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BOOK  843.8.Z74E  c.2 
ZOLA  #  DRAM  SHOP 


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THE   DRAM-SHOP 


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THE    DRAM-SHOP 


[UASSOMMOIR] 


BY 


^MILE    ZOLA 


EDITED  BY   ERNEST  A.    VIZETELLY 


SOLE  AUTHORISED  ENGLISH    VE^^SION 


THE    MARION   COMPANY 

NEW   YORK 

1915 


INTRODUCTION 


The  Assommoir  is  the  book  which  made  ^fimile  Zola 
famous.  Previous  to  its  publication  he  was  virtually  an  un- 
known quantity  in  the  spheres  of  literature  and  social  reform. 
To  the  version  of  his  story  which  is  here  offered  the  title  of 
*  The  Dram-shop  '  has  been  given ;  this  title  conveying,  it  is 
thought,  a  good  idea  of  the  book's  subject  and  purpose,  which 
last  is  to  stay  the  ravages  of  strong  drink.  *  Drink  '  in  itself 
is,  of  course,  an  obvious  title  for  such  a  work ;  but  it  was 
taken  by  the  late  Charles  Reade  for  his  well-known  dramatic 
arrangement  of  M.  Zola's  story,  and  to  have  borrowed  it  for 
the  present  volume  would  only  have  led  to  confusion.  More- 
over, there  are  certain  reasons  for  giving  this  translation  a 
title  which  shall  fully  distinguish  it  from  all  previous  ones. 

In  the  French  title,  L'Assomvioir,  there  lurks  a  particular 
meaning,  which  may  here  be  briefly  explained.  An  assommoir 
is  Uterally  a  heavy  bludgeon,  but  the  word  may  be  applied  to 
almost  any  weapon  that  will  fell,  stun,  or  kill.  Many  yeara 
ago  the  nickname  of  assommoir  was  given  in  a  spirit  oi 
sarcasm  to  a  certain  tavern  in  the  Parisian  faubourg  ol 
Belleville — an  estabhshment  notorious  for  the  potency  of  the 
liquors  it  dispensed.  The  idea,  of  course,  was  that  the  drams 
consumed  at  this  tavern  fairly  dealt  one  a  knockdown  blow. 
However,  the  landlord  of  the  premises,  a  shrewd  man  of 
business,  who  well  knew  what  class  of  people  he  had  to  deal 
with,  in  no  wise  resented  the  nickname  bestowed  upon  his 
house.  On  the  contrary,  he  formally  adopted  it,  painted  it 
above  his  windows,  and  in  a  few  years  made  his  fortune. 
And  in  course  of  time,  among  the  working-classes  of  Paris, 
any  low-drinking  haunt  noted   for  its  fiery  spirits  became 


vi  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

known  as  an  assommoir.  M.  Zola,  en  passant,  picked  up  the 
word,  and  in  some  degree  extended  its  meaning,  so  that  it  has 
come  to  signify  in  a  measure  drink  itself,  which,  like  the 
bludgeon,  fells,  stuns,  and  ultimately  kills  its  victims. 

It  has  been  mentioned  above  that  L' Assommoir  was  the 
work  which  made  M.  Zola  famous.  Its  first  appearance  in 
serial  form,  in  the  columns  of  a  Paris  newspaper,  Le  Bien 
Public,  of  which  M.  Thiers  was  chief  proprietor,  provoked 
such  frantic  protests  that  it  had  to  be  withdrawn.  And  when 
it  was  subsequently  issued  in  book  form  the  outcry  became 
terrific.  It  was  denounced  upon  all  sides  as  a  most  atrocious 
libel  upon  the  French  working-classes.  And  yet  this  was  but 
few  years  after  the  Commune  of  Paris— a  movement  largely 
due  to  drink,  for  half  of  the  Parisian  proUtariat  had  acquired 
tippling,  slothful  habits  during  the  German  siege,  when  work 
was  at  a  standstill,  food  scarce,  and  wine  and  brandy  so 
plentiful  that,  had  it  been  possible  for  the  Parisians  to  have 
lived  upon  alcohol  alone,  they  might  have  kept  the  investing 
armies  at  bay  for  nearly  another  twelvemonth.  Moreover, 
subsequent  to  the  Commune  and  prior  to  the  publication  of 
L' Assommoir,  the  French  National  Assembly  for  the  first  time 
in  the  annals  of  France  had  found  it  absolutely  necessary  to 
pass  a  law  against  the  growing  vice  of  drunkenness. 

Looking  backward,  I  do  not  think  anybody  can  nowa- 
days deny  that  L' Assommoir  was  quite  a  necessary  book. 
To  plead,  to  urge,  is  all  very  well  at  times;  but  in  some 
matters  people  cannot  be  roused  unless  they  are  absolutely 
shocked.  Some  years  ago  on  a  certain  subject  an  English 
journalist  urged  and  pleaded  in  vain.  Then  he  iindertook  to 
shock  people,  and  for  his  pains  he  was  dragged  through  the 
mire  and  saw  his  newspaper  ignominiously  turned  out  of 
almost  every  London  club.  But  time  brought  him  his 
revenge,  as  it  always  brings  revenge  to  every  man  who  stands 
up  for  a  good  cause ;  and  nowadays  among  the  statutes  of 
Great  Britain  there  figures  a  certain  amended  law  which  is 
for  all  time  forward  that  journalist's  vindication. 

And  in  like  way  the  author  of  L'Assommoi/r  has  been 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

vindicated.  No  thinking  man  in  France  now  regards  his 
book  as  libellous.  The  evils  denounced  in  its  pages  have 
become  too  apparent.  Publicists  do  not  weary  of  expatiating 
on  them ;  numerous  societies  have  been  founded  to  combat 
them;  philanthropists  give  time  and  money  to  the  cause. 
With  my  knowledge  of  France  and  French  life  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  M.  Zola's  writings,  taken  en  bloCj  have 
done  an  infinity  of  good  by  laying  bare  so  many  social 
sores,  and  thus  rousing  the  national  conscience.  Critics  have 
often  imputed  to  him  as  a  crime  the  fact  that  he  does  not 
pause  to  moralise,  that  he  allows  his  readers  to  draw  their 
own  inferences  from  his  narratives.  But  surely  each  of  those 
narratives  is  presented  in  such  fashion  that  its  moral  becomes 
obvious  to  the  dullest  intellect.  Moreover,  whatever  M.  Zola 
may  have  had  to  write  respecting  vice  in  its  various  forms,  he 
has  never  sought — as  George  Sand,  for  instance,  invariably 
did — to  render  it  in  any  wise  attractive.  One  of  the  best 
defences  of  M.  Zola  from  this  point  of  view  was  penned  some 
years  ago  by  Signor  Edmondo  de  Amicis,  and  may  well  be 
quoted  here : — '  Zola  is  one  of  the  most  moral  novelists  of 
France,  and  it  is  really  astonishing  how  anyone  can  doubt 
it.  He  makes  us  note  the  stench,  not  the  perfume,  of  vice ; 
his  nude  figures  are  those  of  the  anatomical  table,  which 
inspire  no  immoral  thought  whatever  ;  there  is  not  one  of  his 
books,  not  even  the  crudest  in  language,  that  does  not  leave 
in  the  soul,  pure,  firm,  and  immutable,  either  repugnance  or 
scorn  for  the  base  passions  of  which  he  treats.  He  is  not, 
like  the  younger  Alexandre  Dumas,  linked  by  unconquerable 
sympathy  to  hideous  women,  to  whom  he  says  "  Infamous 
creatures  !  "  aloud  and  **  Dear  ones  !  "  just  above  his  breath. 
Brutally,  pitilessly,  and  without  hypocrisy  he  exposes  vice, 
and  holds  it  up  to  ridicule,  standing  so  far  away  from  it 
himself  that  he  does  not  graze  it  with  his  garments.  Forced 
by  his  hand,  it  is  Vice  itself  that  shouts  the  injunction  : 
"  Detest  me  and  pass  by  I  "  ' 

When  all  is  considered  it  will  be  found — at  least  such  is 
my  own  opinion — that  the  great  quarrel  between  the  critics 


viii  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

and  M.  Zola  has  been  chiefly  caused  by  his  outspokenness. 
He  has  invariably  made  it  his  practice  to  call  a  spade  a  spade  ; 
and  in  his  desire  to  be  absolutely  true  to  life,  such  as  it  un- 
happily is,  he  has  recoiled  from  no  expression,  however 
horrible  or  loathsome  it  may  be,  when  it  has  fitted  in  with 
the  thoughts  or  the  vernacular  of  his  characters.  This  is 
particularly  the  case  in  L'Assommoir,  and  to  it  may  be  traced 
much  if  not  all  of  the  denunciation  with  which  this  work 
has  been  visited.  Farther  on  the  reader  will  find  a  trans- 
lation of  M.  Zola's  own  preface  to  the  book,  in  which  he 
rephes  to  the  attacks  levelled  at  him  on  this  particular  sub- 
ject. He  states  his  case  clearly  from  the  philological  stand- 
point, and  even  those  who  do  not  hold  the  same  views  as 
himself  must,  I  think,  concede  that  for  students  of  language 
his  work  possesses  a  keen  and  abiding  interest.  At  the  same 
time,  whatever  philological  importance  and  interest  may 
attach  to  the  original,  must  largely  disappear  in  a  transla- 
tion, particularly  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  this  translation 
has  been  made  not  for  philological  purposes,  but  chiefly 
to  diffuse  the  wholesome  lessons  against  drink,  sloth,  and 
ignorance  with  which  the  work  abounds.  Nevertheless,  I 
have  endeavoured  to  preserve  some  of  the  spirit  of  the  original 
by  giving  the  words  and  thoughts  of  the  various  characters 
in  a  more  or  less  slangy  form,  whilst  seeking  milder  exple- 
tives and  less  coarseness  of  expression  generally  than  will  be 
found  in  the  French  work.  I  have  also  slightly  modified 
some  incidents  in  my  desire  that  this  version  may  prove  ac- 
ceptable to  the  general  public.  I  may  add  that  it  is  based  on 
a  translation  now  not  generally  accessible ;  however,  I  have 
made  such  a  vast  number  of  corrections  and  modifications  in 
the  former  text  that  the  translation  has  become  almost  entirely 
my  own.  It  will  be  found  that  here  and  there  I  have  added 
to  the  narrative  some  brief  notes,  chiefly  of  an  explanatory 
character. 

E.  A.  V. 

Merton,  Surrey. 


AUTHOR'S   ORIGINAL  PREFACE 


The  *  Rougon-Macquart '  series  will  be  composed  of  some 
twenty  novels.  Ever  since  1869,  the  general  plan  has  been 
settled,  and  I  follow  it  with  extreme  precision.  The  Assom- 
moir  has  come  in  its  due  place  and  season ;  I  have  written 
it  as  I  shall  write  the  other  volumes,  without  deviating  for  a 
second  from  my  straight  line.  Therein  hes  my  strength.  I 
have  a  goal  towards  which  I  am  advancing. 

When  the  Assommoir  appeared  in  a  newspaper,  it  was 
attacked  with  unexampled  brutality,  denounced,  accused  of 
every  crime.  Is  it  really  necessary  to  explain  here  in  a  few 
lines  my  intentions  as  a  writer  ?  I  have  sought  to  picture  the 
fatal  downfall  of  a  family  of  workpeople,  in  the  pestilential 
atmosphere  of  our  faubourgs.  After  drunkenness  and  sloth 
come  the  loosening  of  family  ties,  filth  engendered  by  pro- 
miscuity, progressive  forgetfulness  of  all  upright  sentiments, 
and  then,  as  finish,  shame  and  death.  The  book  is  simply  a 
lesson  in  morality. 

The  Assommoir  is  certainly  the  most  chaste  of  my  works. 
Often  have  I  had  to  point  to  far  more  frightful  sores.  The 
form  which  I  have  given  to  the  book  alone  has  shocked  people. 
Anger  has  been  roused  by  mere  words.  My  crime  consists  in 
having  yielded  to  literary  curiosity  to  gather  the  language  of 
the  people  together  and  run  it  through  a  well-prepared  mould. 
Ah !  the  form,  the  style  of  the  book,  therein  Hes  its  great 
crime  1  Yet  slang  dictionaries  exist,  men  of  letters  study 
slang  and  enjoy  its  piquancy,  its  unexpectedness,  and  the 
force  of  its  imagery.    It  is  a  treat  for  burrowing  gram- 


X  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

marians.  Nevertheless,  no  one  has  perceived  that  my  wish 
was  to  produce  a  philological  work,  which  I  believe  to  be  of 
keen  historical  and  social  interest. 

I  do  not  seek  to  defend  myself,  however.  My  work  will 
defend  me.  It  is  a  work  of  truth,  the  first  novel  about  the 
masses  which  does  not  lie  and  which  has  an  odour  of  the 
masses.  And  one  must  not  conclude  from  what  I  have 
written  that  the  masses  are  entirely  bad;  for  my  own 
characters  are  not  bad,  they  are  simply  ignorant  and  spoilt 
by  the  surroundings  of  hard  drudgery  and  misery  amidst 
which  they  live.  Only,  it  is  necessary  to  read  my  novels,  to 
understand  them,  to  see  them  clearly  as  a  whole,  before 
pronouncing  such  grotesque,  odious,  preconceived  judgments 
as  those  which  circulate  about  my  person  and  my  works.  Ah !  if 
it  were  only  known  how  my  friends  laugh  at  the  amazing  legend 
which  serves  to  amuse  the  multitude !  If  it  were  only  known 
that  the  blood-drinker,  the  ferocious  novelist,  is  a  quiet  citizen, 
a  man  of  study  and  of  art,  who  lives  discreetly  in  his  Httle 
nook,  and  whose  sole  ambition  is  to  leave  behind  him  a  work 
as  broad  and  as  lifelike  as  he  can  construct !  But  I  contradict 
no  tittle-tattle  ;  I  work  ;  and  I  leave  to  time  and  public  good 
faith  the  task  of  unearthing  me  from  beneath  all  the  nonsense 
and  abuse  that  have  been  piled  upon  me. 

Paris.  :fiMILB  ZOLA. 


CONTENTS 


I.  DESSBTION       •          •          ^          •  '        •          •          I          •          •  I 

n.  COURTSHIP        ;*^-^sij<n  .  ^       ^ 28 

in.  THB   WEDDING           .    .•^7"-"^,           ,           ....  $0 

/      ')   / 

IV.  SUNSHINE   AND   OLOUD           ....           i'-  i      .  88 

V.  THE   LAUNDRY- SHOI-           •           .           .           ,           .           .           .  H? 

VI.  THE    SHADOWS   FALL    .           .       ' I  SO 

Vn.  THE   FEAST   AND   THE   SKELETON       ;           .           .           .           .  1 32 

VIII.  THB   WILES   OF   THB   TEMPTER      .           ,           .           .           .      .  219 

IX.  DOWN   HILL      .....           s           ..           .  255 

X.  MISERY         ••.«•••••.  292 

XI.  NANA         ...«••••..  328 

XII.  HUNGER       «.•.•••••.  363 

XIII.  DEATH     c           .•••••           t           •           •  393 


THE    DRAM-SHOP 


I 

DESERTION 

Gervaise  had  waited  for  Lantier  until  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Then,  all  of  a  shiver  from  having  remained  in  a 
thin,  loose  jacket  amidst  the  fresh  air  at  the  window,  she 
had  fallen  asleep,  stretched  across  the  bed,  feverish,  and  her 
cheeks  bathed  in  tears.  Every  evening  for  a  week  past,  on 
leaving  the  'Two-Headed  Calf,'  where  they  took  their 
meals,  Lantier  had  sent  her  home  to  bed  with  the  children, 
never  reappearing  himself  till  late  at  night,  when  he  would 
assert  that  he  had  been  in  search  of  work.  That  evening, 
while  watching  for  his  retm^n,  she  fancied  she  had  seen  him 
enter  the  *  Grand  Balcony  '  dancing-hall,  whose  ten  blazing 
windows  set  the  glare  of  a  conflagration  amidst  the  dark 
expanse  of  the  outer  Boulevards  ;  and,  five  or  six  paces  behind 
him,  she  had  caught  sight  of  little  Adele,  a  burnisher,  who  dined 
at  their  restaurant,  and  who  now  walked  along  with  swinging 
hands,  as  if  she  had  just  quitted  his  arm,  so  that  they  might 
not  pass  together  under  the  vivid  light  of  the  globes  at  the 
entrance. 

When  Gervaise  awoke,  stiff  and  sore,  at  about  five  o'clock, 
she  burst  into  sobs,  for  Lantier  had  not  returned.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  he  had  slept  away  from  home.  Seated  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  under  a  strip  of  faded  chintz,  which 
hung  from  a  rod  secured  to  the  ceiling  by  a  piece  of  string, 
the  young  woman,  with  tear-blurred  eyes,  glanced  slowly 
round  the  wretched  lodging,  with  its  walnut  chest  of  drawers, 
one  of  which  was  lacking,  its  three  rush-bottom  chairs,  and 
its  little  greasy  table,  on  which  stood   a  broken  water -jug. 

B 


2  THE  DRAMSHOP 

To  these  an  iron  bedstead  had  been  added  for  the  children, 
and  it  not  only  impeded  access  to  the  drawers,  but  filled  two- 
thirds  of  the  room.  Then  there  was  Gervaise's  and  Lantier's 
trunk,  standing  wide  open  in  one  corner,  with  a  man's  old 
hat  buried  at  the  bottom  of  it,  beneath  some  dirty  shirts  and 
socks ;  whilst,  against  the  walls  or  over  the  articles  of  furni- 
ture, hung  the  last  rags  which  second-hand  clothes'  dealers 
declined  to  buy — a  shawl  full  of  holes,  and  a  pair  of  trousers 
begrimed  with  mud.  In  the  centre  of  the  mantel-piece, 
between  two  odd  zinc  candlesticks,  lay  a  bundle  of  pawn- 
tickets of  a  soft  pink  hue.  And  this  was  the  best  room  of 
the  hotel,  the  first-floor  room  overlooking  the  Boulevard. 

However,  the  two  children  were  still  asleep,  lying  side  by 
side,  with  their  heads  on  the  same  pillow.  Claude,  who  was 
eight  years  old,  and  whose  little  hands  were  thrown  outside  the 
coverlet,  drew  breath  slowly  and  gently ;  while  Etienne,  who  was 
but  four,  smiled,  with  one  arm  round  his  brother's  neck.  As  the 
mother's  clouded  gaze  rested  upon  them,  she  broke  into  a 
fresh  fit  of  sobbing,  and  pressed  a  handkerchief  to  her  mouth, 
to  stifle  the  faint  cries  that  escaped  her.  Then,  barefooted, 
never  thinking  of  her  old  shoes  which  had  fallen  on  the  floor, 
she  went  to  lean  over  the  window-bar  again,  resuming  her 
wait  of  the  night  with  eyes  which  ever  searched  the  distant 
pavements. 

The  hotel  stood  on  the  Boulevard  de  la  Chapelle,  to  the 
left  of  the  Barri^re  Poissonni^re.  It  was  a  wretched  three- 
floored  building,  painted  red,  of  the  shade  of  wine  lees,  to  the 
second  upper  story,  and  with  shutters  all  rotted  by  the  rain. 
Between  the  two  windows,  over  a  lamp  whose  panes  of  glass 
were  starred,  one  could  manage  to  read  the  words,  '  Hotel 
Boncceur,  kept  by  Marsoullier,'  painted  in  big  yellow  letters, 
pieces  of  which  bad  been  carried  away  by  the  mouldering  of 
the  plaster.  The  lamp  interfering  with  her  view,  Gervaise 
raised  herself  on  tiptoe,  still  holding  her  handkerchief  to  her 
lips.  She  looked  to  the  right,  towards  the  Boulevard  de 
Eochechouart,  where  groups  of  butchers,  with  blood-smeared 
aprons,  hung  about  in  front  of  the  slaughter-houses,  whence 
the  fresh  breeze  occasionally  wafted  the  strong  odour  of 
slaughtered  beasts.  She  looked  also  to  the  left,  her  glance 
enfilading  a  long  avenue,  then  resting  almost  in  front  of  her 
on  the  white  mass  of  the  Lariboisiere  Hospital,  at  that  time 
being  built.  Slowly,  from  one  horizon  tft  the  other,  she 
followed    the  octroi  wall,  behind  which  at  night-time  she 


DESERTION  3 

sometimes  heard  shrieks  as  of  persons  being  murdered  ;  and 
she  searched  the  remote  nooks,  the  dark  corners,  black  with 
damp  and  filth,  fearing  lest  she  might  there  discern  the  body 
of  Lantier  stabbed  to  death.  When  she  raised  her  eyes 
beyond  that  grey  and  interminable  wall,  which  encircled  the 
city  with  a  desert-hke  girdle,  she  perceived  a  great  glow,  a 
sunny  dust,  already  full  of  the  early  morning  rumbling  of 
Paris.  But  she  ever  came  back  to  the  Barriere  Poissonniere, 
stretching  out  her  neck  and  growing  dizzy  as  she  watched  the 
endless  stream  of  men,  cattle,  and  carts,  that  flowed  down 
from  the  heights  of  Montmartre  and  La  Chapelle,  between 
the  two  squat  buildings  where  the  municipal  dues  were  levied. 
There  was  a  tramping  drove,  a  crowd  which  sudden  stoppa.ges 
spread  like  pools  over  the  roadway,  an  endless  procession  of 
workmen  going  to  their  toil,  with  loaves  of  bread  under  their 
arms  and  tools  slung  over  their  shoulders ;  and  this  dense 
mass  ever  and  ever  plunged  into  Paris,  where  it  became  lost  to 
view.  Each  time  that  Gervaise  thought  she  recognised  Lantier 
among  all  those  people,  she  leaned  out  the  more,  at  the  risk  of 
falhng  ;  and  then  pressed  her  handkerchief  more  firmly  to 
her  mouth,  as  though  to  repress  her  grief. 

But  a  call  from  a  young  and  cheerful  voice  caused  her  to 
leave  the  window. 

'  So  the  old  man  isn't  here,  Madame  Lantier  ? ' 

*  "Why,  no,  Monsieur  Coupeau,'  she  replied,  trying  to  smile.. 

The  new-comer  was  a  zinc-worker,  occupying  a  mere 
closet  at  the  top  of  the  house,  for  ten  francs  a  month.  He 
had  his  bag  slung  over  his  shoulder.  Having  found  the  key 
in  the  door,  he  had  entered  in  a  neighbourly  way. 

'  You  know,'  continued  he,  'I'm  now  working  over  yonder 
at  the  hospital.  What  beautiful  May  weather,  isn't  it  ?  The 
air's  rather  sharp  this  morning.' 

As  he  spoke  he  looked  at  Gervaise's  face,  which  was  red 
with  weeping.  And  when  he  saw  that  the  bed  had  not  been 
slept  in  he  gently  shook  his  head ;  then  went  to  the  pallet 
where  the  children  were  still  slumbering,  looking  as  rosy  as 
cherubs.  Finally,  lowering  his  voice,  he  said,  '  Oh  !  the  old 
man's  not  been  home,  has  he?  Don't  worry  yourself, 
Madame  Lantier.  He's  very  much  occupied  with  politics. 
The  other  day,  when  they  elected  Eugene  Sue,  one  of  the 
right  sort,  it  seems  he  got  perfectly  crazy.  He  has  very  likely 
spent  the  night  with  some  friends  in  blackguarding  that  rascal 
Bonaparte.' 

b2 


4  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

*  No,  no,*  she  murmured  with  an  effort.  *  You  don't  think 
that.  But  I  know  where  Lantier  is.  We  have  our  little  troubles 
like  the  rest  of  the  world !  ' 

Ooupeau  winked  as  if  to  indicate  that  he  was  not  duped  by 
this  falsehood ;  and  then  he  went  off,  after  offering  to  fetch 
her  milk,  if  she  did  not  care  to  go  out.  She  was  a  good  and 
a  plucky  woman,  and  might  count  upon  him  should  she  ever 
be  in  trouble. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Gervaise  returned  to  the  window. 
At  the  Barri^re,  the  drove-like  tramping  still  continued  in  the 
cold  morning  air.  One  could  recognise  the  locksmiths  by 
their  short  blue  blouses,  the  masons  by  their  white  overalls, 
and  the  painters  by  their  overcoats,  beneath  which  fell  long 
smocks.  At  a  distance  the  throng  showed  somewhat  in- 
distinctly, vague  like  a  plastered  wall  of  a  neutral  tint  made  up 
chiefly  of  faint,  faded  blue  and  dirty  grey.  Now  and  again,  a 
workman  stopped  to  relight  his  pipe,  while  the  others  around 
him  pressed  on,  never  laughing,  never  saying  a  word  to  a 
mate,  but  with  cadaverous  cheeks,  and  eyes  turned  towards 
Paris,  which  swallowed  them  up,  one  by  one,  down  the  gaping 
Faubourg  Poissonniere.  However,  at  either  corner  of  the 
Rue  des  Poissonniers  some  men  slackened  their  pace  as  they 
neared  the  doors  of  the  two  wine-dealers  who  were  taking 
down  their  shutters ;  and,  before  entering  the  shops,  they 
turned  at  the  edge  of  the  pavement,  casting  side-long  glances 
over  Paris,  their  arms  nerveless,  and  their  minds  already 
inclined  for  a  day  of  idleness.  Before  the  counters,  others 
stood  in  groups,  treating  one  another,  lingering  and  filling 
the  rooms,  now  coughing,  now  spitting,  and  now  clearing  their 
throats  with  little  glassfuls  of  neat  spirits.  Gervaise  was  watch- 
ing old  Colombe's  wine-shop  on  the  left  of  the  street,  where  she 
thought  she  had  seen  Lantier,  when  a  stout  woman,  bareheaded 
and  wearing  an  apron,  called  to  her  from  the  middle  of  the 
roadway :  '  I  say,  Madame  Lantier,  you're  up  very  early  ! ' 

Gervaise  leaned  out.  *  Why  I  it's  you,  Madame  Boche  I— 
Oh  I  Pve  a  lot  of  work  to-day  I  * 

*  Yes,  things  don't  do  themselves,  do  they  ?  '  replied  the 
other. 

Then  a  conversation  was  carried  on  between  the  window 
and  the  pavement.  Madame  Boche  was  doorkeeper  of  the 
house,  on  the  ground  floor  of  which  was  the  restaurant  of  the 
*  Two-Headed  Calf.*  Gervaise  had  several  times  waited  for 
Lantier  in  her  room,  so  as  to  avoid  sitting  down  alone  among 


DESERTION  5 

the  men  who  took  their  meals  at  the  eating-house.  How- 
ever, the  doorkeeper  related  that  she  was  going  to  the  Rue 
de  la  Charbonniere  close  by,  to  catch  a  clerk  from  whom 
her  husband  was  unable  to  extract  the  money  owing  for 
repairing  a  frock-coat.  She  hoped  to  find  this  reluctant 
debtor  still  in  bed.  And  she  went  on  to  speak  of  a  tenant  of 
hers  who  had  made  a  great  disturbance  during  the  night, 
preventing  everybody  else  from  sleeping  till  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  However,  whilst  she  thus  chatted,  she 
scrutinised  Gervaise  with  keen  curiosity,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
she  had  merely  planted  herself  under  the  window  for  the 
purpose  of  finding  something  out. 

*  Is  Monsieur  Lantier  still  in  bed  then  ? '  she  abruptly 
asked. 

*  Yes,  he's  asleep,'  replied  Gervaise,  who  could  not  help 
blushing. 

Madame  Boche  saw  the  tears  come  into  her  eyes ;  and, 
satisfied  no  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  her  surmises,  she  was 
already  going  off,  declaring  men  to  be  a  cursed,  lazy  set,  when 
she  sudd^uly  retraced  her  steps  and  called  out :  '  It's  this 
morning  you  go  to  the  wash-house,  isn't  it  ?  I've  something  to 
wash,  too.  Ill  keep  you  a  place  next  to  me,  and  we  can  chat 
together.'  Then,  as  if  moved  with  sudden  pity,  she  added : 
*  My  poor  little  one,  you  had  far  better  not  remain  there ; 
you'll  take  harm.     You  are  quite  blue  with  the  cold.' 

Gervaise,  however,  obstinately  remained  at  the  window 
for  two  mortal  hours,  never  stirring  till  it  was  eight  o'clock. 
By  that  time  the  shops  had  all  opened.  The  flow  of  blouses 
coming  from  the  heights  had  ceased  ;  and  only  a  few  belated 
ones  passed  the  Barrilre  with  hasty  strides,  though  in  the  wine- 
shops the  same  individuals  as  before  still  stood  drinking,  cough- 
ing, and  expectorating.  After  the  rush  of  workmen,  however, 
had  come  that  of  the  work-girls,  burnishers,  milliners,  and  arti- 
ficial flower-makers,  who  gathered  their  thin  garments  closely 
round  them  as  they  trotted  along  the  outer  Boulevards.  For 
the  most  part  they  went  by  in  threes  and  fours,  chatting  gaily, 
laughing  softly  and  casting  bright  glances  about  them  ;  but 
at  long  intervals,  some  pale-faced,  serious  looking  girl  would 
follow  the  boundary  w^all  aU  alone,  carefully  picking  her  way 
among  the  filth  that  lay  about  there.  Next,  the  derks  had 
passed,  blowing  on  their  fingers,  and  eating  their  halfpenny 
rolls  as  they  walked  on.  Thin  young  men  these  were,  whose 
clothes  were  too  short  and  whose  eyes  were  bleared  and  sleepy  ; 


6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

and  also  little  old  men  who  had  sickly  countenances,  worn  by 
long  office  hours,  and  who,  as  they  rolled  along,  frequently 
consulted  their  watches  in  order  to  regulate  their  progress  by 
the  second.  And  afterwards  the  Boulevards  had  donned 
their  calm  morning  aspect :  the  men  of  leisure  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood had  come  to  stroll  about  in  the  sunshine  ;  mothers 
with  bare  heads,  and  dirty  skirts,  had  begun  to  rock  babies  in 
swaddhng  clothes  on  the  seats  ;  while  a  number  of  half-clad 
brats,  with  dirty  noses,  jostled  one  another  and  rolled  on 
the  ground,  amidst  whining,  laughter,  and  tears.  Then 
Gervaise  felt  choking,  dizzy  with  anguish,  all  her  hope  gone  ; 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  everything  was  ended,  even  time  itself, 
and  that  Lantier  would  return  no  more.  Her  eyes  still 
wandered  vacantly  from  the  old  slaughter-houses  foul 
with  butchery  and  stench,  to  the  new  white  hospital,  which, 
through  the  yawning  openings  of  its  rows  of  windows,  showed 
its  naked  wards,  where  death  ere  long  would  mow.  And  she 
was  dazzled  by  the  bright  sky  in  front  of  her  beyond  the 
boundary  wall,  where  the  sun  was  rising  higher  and  higher 
over  the  great  awakening  of  Paris. 

She  had  seated  herself  on  a  chair,  no  longer  crying,  her 
hands  lying  listlessly  on  her  lap,  when  Lantier  quietly 
entered  the  room. 

'  It's  you  ! — it's  you  I '  she  cried,  rising  to  throw  herself 
upon  his  neck. 

'  Yes,  it's  me.  What  of  it  ?  '  he  replied.  '  You  are  not 
going  to  begin  any  of  your  tomfoolery,  I  hope ! ' 

So  saying  he  pushed  her  aside,  and  then,  with  a  gesture 
of  ill-humour,  tossed  his  black  felt  hat  on  to  the  chest  of 
drawers.  He  was  some  twenty-six  years  of  age,  short,  and 
very  dark,  handsome  in  face,  with  slight  moustaches  which 
his  hand  was  ever  mechanically  twirling.  He  wore  a 
workman's  overalls  and  an  old  soiled  overcoat,  which  he 
buttoned  tightly  at  the  waist ;  and  he  spoke  vnth  a  strong 
ProvenQal  accent. 

Gervaise,  who  had  fallen  back  on  her  chair,  gave  vent  to 
gentle  complaints  in  short  sentences  :  '  I've  not  had  a  wink  of 
sleep,'  she  said.  *  I  feared  some  harm  had  happened  to  you. 
Where  have  you  been  ?  Where  did  you  spend  the  night  ? 
For  heaven's  sake !  don't  do  it  again,  or  I  shall  go  crazy. 
Tell  me,  Auguste,  where  have  you  been  ? ' 

*  Where  I'd  business,  of  course,'  he  returned,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.    *  At  eight  o'clock  I  was  at  La  Glacike  with 


DESERTION  7 

that  friend  of  mine  who's  going  to  start  a  hat  factory.  We 
sat  till  late,  so  I  preferred  to  sleep  there.  Besides,  you  know, 
I  don't  like  being  spied  upon,  so  just  shut  up  ! ' 

The  young  woman  again  began  to  sob.  The  loud  voice 
and  the  rough  movements  of  Lantier  pushing  the  chairs  out 
of  his  way  had  awakened  the  children.  They  sat  up  in  bed, 
half  naked,  parting  their  tumbled  hair  with  their  tiny 
hands ;  and  on  hearing  their  mother  sob,  they  raised  terrible 
screams,  weeping  also,  though  their  eyes  were  scarcely 
open. 

*  Ah  1  there's  the  music  beginning ! '  exclaimed  Lantier. 
'  I  warn  you  that  I'll  take  my  hook  !  And  it  will  be  for  good, 
this  time.  You  won't  shut  up,  eh  ?  Then,  good-morning  1 
I'll  return  to  the  place  I've  just  come  from.' 

He  had  already  taken  his  hat  from  off  the  chest  of 
drawers,  but  Gervaise  threw  herself  before  him,  stammering : 
'  No,  no  ! ' 

Then  she  hushed  the  little  ones'  sobs  with  her  caresses, 
kissed  their  hair,  and  by  dint  of  soft  words  made  them  lie 
down  again.  Suddenly  quieted,  already  laughing  on  their 
pillow,  they  then  amused  themselves  by  pinching  one  another. 
The  father,  however,  without  even  taking  off  his  boots,  had 
thrown  himself  upon  the  bed,  apparently  worn  out,  his  face 
blotched  by  a  night  of  dissipation.  Still  he  did  not  go  to 
sleep,  but  lay  there  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  looking  round 
the  room. 

*  It's  clean  here  ! '  he  muttered.  And  after  glancing  at 
Gervaise,  he  mahgnantly  added :  *  Don't  you  even  wash  your- 
self now  ? ' 

Gervaise  was  only  two-and-twenty.  She  was  tall  and 
rather  slim,  with  delicate  features,  already  worn,  however,  by 
the  hardships  of  life.  Uncombed  as  she  was,  in  old  shoes, 
shivering  under  her  thin  white  jacket  which  was  soiled  with 
grease  and  dust  from  the  furniture,  it  seemed  as  if  the  hours 
of  anguish  and  tears  through  which  she  had  just  passed  had 
aged  her  by  ten  years.  However,  Lantier's  words  made  her 
emerge  from  her  timid  and  submissive  attitude. 

*  You're  not  just,'  said  she  with  spirit.  *  You  well  know  I 
do  all  I  can.  It's  not  my  fault  if  we  find  ourselves  here.  I 
would  like  to  see  you,  with  the  two  children,  in  a  room  where 
there's  not  even  a  stove  to  heat  any  water.  When  we  arrived 
in  Paris,  instead  of  squandering  your  money,  you  should 
have  set  up  in  business  at  once,  as  you  promised  to  do.' 


8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

'  I  say  1 '  he  cried,  '  you  cracked  the  nut  with  me  ;  it  isn't 
for  you  to  sneer  at  it  now  ! ' 

But  without  appearing  to  hear  him,  she  continued :  '  All 
the  same,  with  a  Uttle  courage,  we  can  still  get  right  again.  I 
saw  Madame  Fauconnier,  the  laundress  in  the  Rue  Neuve, 
yesterday  evening ;  she  will  take  me  on  Monday.  If  you  get 
to  work  with  your  friend  at  La  Glaciere,  we  shall  have  our 
heads  above  water  again  before  six  months  are  past,  just 
time  enough  to  get  ourselves  some  clothes  and  take  a  place 
somewhere,  that  we  can  call  our  own.  But  oh  1  we  must 
work,  work  1 ' 

At  this  Lantier  turned  towards  the  wall,  as  if  greatly 
bored. 

Then  Gervaise  quite  lost  her  temper.  '  Yes,  that's  it,  I 
know  that  the  love  of  work  doesn't  trouble  you  much. 
You're  bursting  with  ambition,  you  want  to  be  dressed  like  a 
gentleman  and  walk  out  with  hussies  in  silk  skirts.  You 
don't  think  me  nice  enough  now  that  you've  made  me  pawn 
all  my  dresses.  Listen,  Auguste,  I  didn't  intend  to  speak  of 
it,  I  would  have  waited  a  bit  longer,  but  I  know  where  you 
went  last  evening;  I  saw  you  enter  the  "Grand-Balcony'* 
with  that  Adele.  She's  a  nice  one,  she  is  1  she  does  well  to 
put  on  the  airs  of  a  princess  I  She's  the  talk  of  the  whole 
restaurant.' 

At  a  bound  Lantier  sprang  off  the  bed.  His  eyes  now 
showed  as  black  as  ink  in  his  pale  face.  With  this  little  man, 
anger  was  tempestuous. 

'  Yes,  the  talk  of  the  whole  restaurant ! '  repeated  the 
young  woman.  '  Madame  Boche  intends  to  give  them  notice, 
she  and  her  long  stick  of  a  sister,  on  account  of  their  goings- 
on  in  the  house.' 

At  this  Lantier  raised  his  fists ;  then,  resisting  his  desire 
to  strike  her,  he  caught  hold  of  her  arms,  shook  her  violently, 
and  sent  her  sprawling  upon  the  bed  of  the  children,  who 
once  more  began  to  scream.  And  thereupon  he  laid  himself 
down  again,  mumbling  with  the  fierce  expression  of  a  man 
who  is  resolving  on  something  from  which  he  had  previously 
recoiled :  '  You  don't  know  what  you've  done,  Gervaise. 
You've  made  a  mistake ;  you'll  see.' 

For  an  instant  the  children  continued  sobbing.  Their 
mother,  still  bending  over  the  bed,  held  them  both  m  a  close 
embrace,  and  repeated  a  score  of  times,  ever  in  the  same 
monotonous  voice :    *  Ah !  if  you  were  not  there  I  my  poor 


DESERTION  9 

little  ones !  If  you  were  not  there !  If  you  were  not 
there ! ' 

Lantier,  now  quietly  stretched  on  the  bed,  with  his  eyes 
raised  to  the  faded  strip  of  chintz,  no  longer  listened  to  her, 
but  plunged  deeply  into  some  all-absorbing  thought.  He 
remained  thus  for  nearly  an  hour,  without  giving  way  to 
sleep,  in  spite  of  the  fatigue  which  weighed  upon  his  eyelids. 
When  he  at  last  turned  round,  raising  himself  on  one  arm, 
with  a  harsh,  determined  face,  Gervaise  had  almost  finished 
tidying  the  room.  She  was  making  the  children's  bed,  they 
being  already  up  and  dressed.  Then  he  watched  her  as  she 
swept  and  dusted ;  but  whatever  might  be  her  efforts  at 
cleanliness,  the  room  remained  dingy  and  wretched,  with  its 
smoky  ceiling,  its  wall-paper  peeling  off  from  the  damp,  its 
three  rickety  chairs  and  its  tumble-down  chest  of  drawers,  to 
which  the  dirt  climg  so  obstinately,  only  spreading  the  more 
beneath  the  duster.  And  afterwards,  whilst  she  washed 
herself  with  a  great  splashing  of  water,  after  rolling  up  her 
hair  in  front  of  a  little  round  hand-glass  which  hung  from 
the  window-fastening,  and  was  used  by  him  when  he  shaved, 
he  scrutinised  her  arms,  and  throat,  and  shoulders,  as  though 
he  were  mentally  comparing  her  with  someone  else.  And 
finally  he  pouted.  Gervaise  limped  with  her  right  leg  ;  but  it 
was  scarcely  perceptible,  excepting  when  she  was  very  tired, 
and  with  aching  hips  grew  careless  as  to  how  she  walked. 
That  morning,  however,  worn  out  by  her  restless  night,  she 
fairly  dragged  her  leg,  and  even  leant  against  the  wall. 

Silence  prevailed ;  since  the  previous  outburst  they  had 
not  exchanged  a  word.  He  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some- 
thing ;  while  she,  devouring  her  grief,  trying  to  feign  indiffer- 
ence, hurried  over  her  work.  At  last  while  she  was  making 
a  bundle  of  some  dirty  clothes  thrown  in  a  corner,  behind 
the  trunk,  he  opened  his  lips  and  asked :  *  What  are  you 
doing  there  ?     Where  are  you  going  ?  ' 

She  did  not  answer  at  first ;  but,  when  he  furiously 
repeated  his  question,  she  made  up  her  mind,  and  said  :  '  I 
suppose  you  can  see  for  yourself.  I'm  going  to  wash  all  this. 
The  children  can't  live  in  filth.' 

He  let  her  pick  up  two  or  three  handkerchiefs,  and  then 
resumed  :  '  Have  you  got  any  money  ?  ' 

At  this  she  stood  up,  holding  the  children's  dirty  shirts, 
and  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  '  Money  !  and  where  do  you 
think  I  can  have  stolen  any  ?    You  know  well  enough  that  I 


lo  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

got  three  francs  the  day  before  yesterday  on  my  black  skirt. 
We've  lunched  off  it  twice,  and  money  goes  quick  at  the  pork- 
butcher's.  No,  of  course  I've  no  money.  I've  four  sous  for 
the  wash-house,  that's  all.' 

While  she  was  speaking  Lantier  had  already  moved  off 
the  bed,  and  was  passing  a  review  of  the  few  rags  hanging 
about  the  room.  He  ended  by  taking  down  the  trousers  and 
the  shawl,  to  which,  after  opening  the  drawers,  he  added  two 
chemises  and  a  woman's  loose  jacket ;  and  throwing  the 
whole  bundle  into  Gervaise's  arms,  he  exclaimed :  *  Here, 
go  and  pop  this.' 

'  Don't  you  want  me  to  pop  the  children  as  well  ?  '  she 
asked.  *  Eh  !  if  they  lent  on  children,  it  would  be  a  fine 
riddance !  ' 

Nevertheless,  she  went  to  the  pawn-place ;  and  when  she 
returned  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  she  laid  a  five-franc 
piece  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  added  the  ticket  to  the  others, 
between  the  two  candlesticks.  *  That's  what  they  gave  me, 
said  she.  *  I  wanted  six  francs,  but  I  couldn't  manage  it. 
Oh !  they'll  never  ruin  themselves.  And  there's  always  such 
a  crowd  there  !  ' 

Lantier  did  not  immediately  pick  up  the  five-franc  piece. 
He  would  have  preferred  small  change,  so  as  to  leave  her 
some  of  it.  However,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  slip  the  coin 
into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  on  noticing  a  remnant  of  ham 
wrapped  in  paper  and  a  chunk  of  bread  upon  the  drawers. 

*  I  didn't  go  to  the  milkwoman's,  because  we  owe  her  a 
week,'  explained  Gervaise.  '  But  I  shall  be  back  early ;  you 
can  get  some  bread  and  some  chops  whilst  I'm  away,  and 
then  we'll  have  lunch.     Bring  up  a  bottle  of  wine  as  well.' 

He  did  not  say  no.  It  seemed  as  if  peace  were  reviving. 
The  young  woman  set  about  completing  her  bundle  of  dirty 
clothes.  But  when  she  was  on  the  point  of  taking  Lantier's 
shirts  and  socks  from  the  bottom  of  the  trunk,  he  called  to 
her  to  leave  them  alone :  *  Leave  my  things,  d'ye  hear !  I 
don't  want  'em  touched  1 ' 

*  What's  it  that  you  don't  want  touched  ?  '  she  asked, 
rising  up.  *  You  surely  don't  mean  to  put  these  filthy  things 
on  again,  do  you  ?    They  must  be  washed.' 

So  saying  she  anxiously  scrutinised  his  handsome  face,  on 
which  she  saw  the  same  harsh  expression  as  before,  as  though 
nothing  henceforth  would  move  him.  On  his  side  he  flew 
into  a  passice,  and,  snatching  the  things  from  her  hands, 


DESERTION  ii 

threw  them  back  into  the  trunk.  *  Just  obey  me  for  once  in 
a  way  I     I  tell  you  I  won't  have  'em  touched  I '  he  shouted. 

'  But  why  ? '  she  added,  turning  pale,  a  terrible  suspicion 
crossing  her  mind.  '  You  don't  want  your  shirts  now ;  you're 
not  going  away.     What  can  it  matter  to  you  if  I  take  them  ? ' 

He  hesitated  for  an  instant,  embarrassed  by  the  piercing 
glance  she  fixed  upon  him.     *  Why — why '  stammered  he, 

*  because  you  go  and  tell  every  one  that  you  keep  me,  that  you 
wash  everything  and  mend  everything.  Well !  it  worries  me, 
there !  Attend  to  your  own  business  and  I'll  attend  to  mine. 
Washerwomen  don't  work  for  dogs.' 

Then  she  entreated  him,  protested  that  she  had  never 
complained  ;  but  he  roughly  closed  the  trunk  and  sat  down 
on  it,  saying,  *  No  I  '  to  her  face.  He  could  surely  do  as  he 
liked  with  what  belonged  to  him !  Finally,  to  escape  the 
inquiring  looks  she  levelled  at  him,  he  laid  himself  down  on 
the  bed  again,  saying  that  he  was  sleepy,  and  did  not  want 
her  to  make  his  head  ache  with  any  more  of  her  row.  This 
time,  indeed,  he  really  seemed  to  fall  asleep. 

Gervaise,  for  a  while,  remained  undecided.  She  was 
tempted  to  kick  the  bundle  of  dirty  clothes  on  one  side,  and 
sit  down  and  sew.  But  Lantier's  regular  breathing  ended 
by  reassuring  her.  She  took  the  ball  of  blue  and  the  piece 
of  soap  remaining  from  her  last  washing,  and  going  up  to  the 
little  ones,  who  were  quietly  playing  with  some  old  corks  in 
front  of  the  window,  she  kissed  them,  and  said  in  a  low  voice : 

*  Be  very  good,  don't  make  a  noise ;  papa's  asleep.' 

When  she  left  the  room,  Claude's  and  iltienne's  gentle 
laughter  alone  disturbed  the  silence  which  reigned  beneath 
the  blackened  ceiling.  It  was  ten  o'clock  ;  and  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine was  darting  through  the  half-open  window. 

Once  on  the  Boulevard,  Gervaise  turned  to  the  left,  and 
followed  the  Rue  Neuve  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  As  she  passed 
the  shop  kept  by  Madame  Fauconnier,  she  nodded  good-day 
to  her.  The  wash-house  she  was  bound  for  was  situated 
towards  the  middle  of  the  street,  at  the  point  where  the 
incline  began.  Three  huge  reservoirs,  strongly  riveted  zinc 
tanks,  showed,  round  and  grey,  atop  of  a  flat-roofed  building ; 
whilst,  in  the  rear,  rose  the  drying-room,  a  very  lofty  second 
floor,  encompassed  on  every  side  by  the  slender  laths  of 
Venetian  shutters,  which  admitted  the  outer  air,  and  allowed 
a  view  of  the  clothes  drying  on  lines  of  brass  wire.  To  the 
right  of  the  reservoirs,  the  slim  funnel  of  the  steam-engine  dis- 


itf  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

charged  puffs  of  white  smoke  with  forcible  and  regular  respira- 
tion. Gervaise  did  not  tuck  up  her  skirts,  but,  like  a  woman 
used  to  puddles,  at  once  entered  by  the  doorway,  which  was 
littered  with  jars  full  of  eau  de  Javelle  or  bleaching  liquid.^ 
She  was  already  acquainted  with  the  mistress  of  the  wash- 
house,  a  delicate  little  woman  with  sore  eyes,  who  sat  in  a 
small  glazed  closet  with  account  books  in  front  of  her,  while 
on  shelves  all  around  were  bars  of  soap,  balls  of  blue  in  glass 
jars,  and  pounds  of  soda  done  up  in  packets.  And,  as 
Gervaise  passed,  she  asked  for  her  beetle  and  her  scouring- 
brush,  which  she  had  left  in  the  other's  charge  on  the  last 
occasion  when  she  had  done  her  washing  there.  Then,  after 
obtaining  her  number,  she  entered  the  wash-house. 

It  was  an  immense  shed,  with  large  windows,  and  a  flat 
ceiling,  showing  beams  which  rested  upon  cast-iron  pillars. 
A  pale  light  passed  freely  through  the  hot  steam,  which  hung 
about  like  a  milky  fog.  Smoke  arose  from  certain  corners, 
spreading  and  steeping  the  more  distant  recesses  in  a  bluish 
veil.  A  heavy  moisture  rained  down,  impregnated  with  a 
soapy  odour,  an  insipid  smell,  continuous  though  occasionally 
overpowered  by  the  more  potent  fumes  of  the  bleaching 
liquid.  Alongside  the  *  batteries '  or  washing-places,  on 
either  hand  of  the  central  alley,  were  rows  of  women,  with 
arms  bare  to  the  shoulders,  necks  bare,  and  skirts  tucked  up, 
thus  showing  coloured  stockings  and  heavy  laced  shoes. 
These  women  beat  their  linen  furiously,  laughed,  leaned  back 
to  call  out  something  amidst  the  din,  or  else  stooped  over 
their  tubs,  all  of  them  brutal,  imgainly,  foul  of  speech,  and 
soaked  as  by  a  rainfall,  till  their  flesh  had  become  red  and 
reeking.  Around  and  beneath  them  was  a  great  flow  of 
water  ;  steaming  pailfuls  were  carried  about  and  emptied  at 
one  shoot ;  cold  water  poured  down  from  open  taps  ;  there  was 
the  splashing  caused  by  the  beetles,  the  dripping  from  the  rinsed 
clothes,  the  pools  in  which  the  women  trod  trickling  away  in 
streamlets  over  the  sloping  flagstones ;  and,  amidst  all  the 
cries,  the  rhythmical  beetle-blows,  the  murmuring  noise  of 
rain,  the  whole  storm-like  clamour  pent  beneath  the  saturated 
ceihng,  the  engine  on  the  right  hand,  white  with  steam,  puffed 
and  snorted  unceasingly ;  its  flier  with  its  dancing  motion 
seeming  to  regulate  the  uproar. 

With  short  steps  Gervaise  passed  along  the  alley,  looking 

'  This  is  simply  chloride  of  potassium  dissolved  in  water. 


DESERTION  13 

to  right  and  left.  She  carried  her  bundle  of  clothes  on  her 
arm,  with  one  hip  higher  than  the  other,  and  hmped  more 
than  usual  amidst  the  coming  and  going  of  the  other  women, 
who  jostled  her. 

'  This  way,  little  one  I  '  cried  Madame  Boche,  in  her  full 
voice.  And,  when  the  young  woman  had  joined  her,  at  the 
very  end  on  the  left,  the  doorkeeper,  who  was  furiously 
rubbing  a  sock,  began  to  talk  in  short  jerky  sentences  without, 
however,  pausing  in  her  work.  '  Put  your  things  there,  I've 
kept  your  place.  Oh  !  I  sha'n't  be  long  over  what  I've  got. 
Boche  scarcely  dirties  his  things  at  aU.  And  you,  you  won't 
be  long  either,  eh  ?  Your  bundle's  quite  a  little  one.  Before 
twelve  o'clock  we  shall  have  finished,  and  can  go  off  to  lunch. 
I  used  to  send  my  things  to  a  laundress  in  the  Rue  Poulet, 
but  she  destroyed  everything  with  her  chlorine  and  her 
brushes ;  so  now  I  do  the  washing  myself.  It's  so  much 
saved ;  it  only  costs  the  soap.  I  say,  though,  you  ought  to 
have  put  those  shirts  to  soak.  Those  rascally  children,  on 
my  word  1  one  would  think  their  bodies  were  covered  with 
soot.' 

Gervaise,  having  undone  her  bundle,  was  spreading  out 
the  little  ones'  shirts,  and  as  Madame  Boche  advised  her  to 
buy  a  pailful  of  lye,  she  answered,  *  Oh,  no !  the  warm  water 
will  do.     I'm  used  to  it.' 

She  had  sorted  the  clothes,  and  put  the  few  coloured 
things  on  one  side.  Then,  after  nearly  filling  her  tub  with 
four  pailfuls  of  cold  water  taken  from  the  tap  behind  her,  she 
thrust  in  the  pile  of  linen,  and,  tucking  up  her  skirt,  drawing 
it  tight  between  her  legs,  she  entered  a  kind  of  box  standing 
on  end  with  sides  which  almost  reached  to  her  waist. 

'  You're  used  to  it,  eh  ? '  repeated  Madame  Boche.  *  You 
were  a  washerwoman  in  your  native  place,  weren't  you,  my 
dear?' 

Gervaise,  with  her  sleeves  turned  up,  displaying  her  fine 
white  arms,  which  were  still  young  and  fresh,  and  scarcely 
reddened  at  the  elbows,  was  beginning  to  get  the  dirt  out  of 
her  Linen.  She  had  spread  a  chemise  over  her  *  battery's ' 
narrow  plank,  which  water  had  whitened  and  worn,  and  after 
rubbing  it  over  with  soap  on  one  side  she  turned  it,  and 
rubbed  it  on  the  other.  Before  answering,  too,  she  seized  her 
beetle  and  began  to  beat  the  chemise,  then  shouted  out  her 
sentences,  punctuating  them  with  formidable,  regular  blows. 
*  Yes,  yes,  a  washerwoman — When  I  was  ten — That's  twelve 


14  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

years  ago — We  used  to  go  to  the  river — It  smelt  nicer  there 
than  it  does  here — You  should  have  seen  the  place,  there  was 
a  nook  under  the  trees,  with  clear  running  water — You  know, 
at  Plassans — Don't  you  know  Plassans  ? — It's  near  Marseilles.' 

'  How  you  go  at  it !  '  exclaimed  Madame  Boche,  amazed 
at  the  vigour  of  Gervaise's  blows.  *  What  a  wrist !  Why 
you'd  flatten  out  a  piece  of  iron  with  those  little  lady-like 
arms  of  yours.' 

The  conversation  continued  in  loud  tones.  At  times,  the 
doorkeeper,  not  catching  what  was  said,  was  obliged  to  lean 
forward.  All  the  white  things  were  beaten,  and  with  a  will ! 
Gervaise  plunged  them  into  the  tub  again,  and  then  took 
them  out  once  more,  one  by  one,  to  rub  them  with  soap  a 
second  time,  and  afterwards  brush  them.  With  one  hand  she 
kept  the  garment  firmly  on  the  plank  ;  while  with  the  other, 
which  grasped  a  short,  stiff  brush,  she  extracted  from  the 
linen  a  dirty  lather,  which  fell  like  dripping  slime.  And  then 
amidst  the  slight  noise  made  by  the  brush,  the  two  women 
drew  together,  and  began  to  converse  in  a  more  intimate  way. 

*  No,  we're  not  married,'  said  Gervaise.  *  I  don't  hide  it. 
Lantier  isn't  so  nice  for  any  one  to  care  to  be  his  wife.  Ah ! 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  children.  I  was  fourteen  and  he  eighteen 
when  we  had  our  first ;  the  other  came  four  years  later.  It 
happened  as  it  always  does,  you  know.  I  wasn't  happy  at 
home.  Old  Macquart,  for  a  yes  or  a  no,  would  give  me  no  end 
of  kicks  ;  so  I  preferred  to  keep  away  from  him.  We  might 
have  been  married,  but — I  forget  why — our  parents  wouldn't 
consent.' 

She  shook  her  hands,  which  were  reddening  in  the  white 
suds.     *  The  Paris  water's  awfully  hard,'  said  she. 

Madame  Boche  was  now  washing  in  a  languid  way.  She 
paused  and  made  her  work  last  as  long  as  she  could,  in  order 
that  she  might  remain  there  and  ferret  out  the  story  which 
she  had  inquisitively  been  hankering  to  know  for  a  fortnight 
past.  Her  mouth  remamed  gaping  in  the  midst  of  her  big, 
fat  face,  and  her  large  prominent  eyes  glittered.  With  the 
satisfaction  of  one  who  has  guessed  aright,  she  reflected. 
*  Yes,  indeed,  the  little  one  gossips  too  much.  There's  been 
a  row.' 

Then,  she  remarked  aloud,  *  He  isn't  nice,  then  ?  ' 

*  Don't  mention  it ! '  replied  Gervaise.  *  He  used  to 
behave  very  weU  in  the  country ;  but  since  we've  been  in 
Paris  he's  become  unbearable.    I  must  tell  you  that  his 


DESERTION  15 

mother  died  last  year  and  left  liira  some  money — about 
seventeen  hundred  francs.  He  wanted  to  come  to  Paris,  and 
so,  as  old  Macquart  was  for  ever  knocking  me  about,  I 
consented  to  come  away  with  him.  We  made  the  journey 
with  the  two  children.  He  was  to  set  me  up  as  a  laundress, 
and  work  himself  at  his  trade  as  a  hatter.  We  might  have 
been  very  happy ;  but  you  see,  Lantier's  ambitious  and 
extravagant,  and  only  thinks  of  amusing  himself.  In  short, 
he's  not  worth  much.  When  we  got  here,  we  went  to  the 
Hotel  Montmartre,  in  the  Rue  Montmartre.  And  then  there 
were  dinners,  and  cabs,  and  the  theatre  ;  a  watch  for  himself, 
and  a  silk  dress  for  me,  for  he  hasn't  got  a  bad  heart  when 
he's  flush.  So  you  understand,  he  went  the  whole  hog,  in 
such  a  way,  too,  that  after  a  couple  of  months  we  were  stone 
broke.  It  was  then  that  we  came  to  Hve  at  the  Hotel 
Boncoeur,  and  that  this  horrible  life  began ' 

She  paused,  for  a  lump  had  suddenly  risen  in  her  throat, 
and  she  could  scarcely  restrain  her  tears.  She  had  now 
finished  brushing  the  linen.  '  I  must  go  and  fetch  my  hot 
water,'  she  murmured. 

Madame  Boche,  however,  greatly  disappointed  at  this 
interruption  of  the  disclosures,  called  to  the  wash-house 
porter,  who  was  passing :  *  Hi,  my  little  Charles,'  said  she, 
'  kindly  get  madame  a  pail  of  hot  water  ;  she's  in  a  hurry.' 

The  young  fellow  took  the  pail  and  brought  it  back  filled. 
Gervaise  paid  him  ;  the  price  was  a  sou  the  pailful.  And 
having  poured  the  hot  water  into  her  tub,  she  soaped  the 
things  a  last  time  with  her  hands,  leaning  over  the  battery 
amidst  the  steam,  which  set  beads  of  greyish  vapour  in  her 
light  hair. 

'  Here,  put  some  soda  in,  I've  got  some  by  me,'  said  the 
doorkeeper,  obligingly;  and  she  thereupon  emptied  into 
Gervaise 's  tub  what  remained  of  a  bagful  of  soda  which  she  had 
brought  with  her.  She  also  offered  her  some  eau  de  Javelle, 
but  the  young  woman  declined  it ;  it  was  only  good  for  grease 
and  wine  stains. 

'I  think  he's  rather  loose,'  resumed  Madame  Boche, 
returning  to  Lantier,  but  without  naming  him. 

Gervaise,  who  was  bending  almost  double,  her  hands 
deep  in  the  water,  and  gripping  the  linen,  merely  tossed  her 
head. 

'  Yes,  yes,'  continued  the  other,  *  I've  noticed  several  little 
things '     But  she  suddenly  contradicted  herself  on  seeing 


i6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

that  Gervaise  abruptly  rose  erect  and  scrutinised  her  with  a 
pale  face.  '  Oh,  no !  I  don't  know  anything  !  He  likes  to 
laugh  a  bit,  I  think,  that's  all.  For  instance,  you  know  the 
two  girls  who  lodge  at  my  place,  Adele  and  Virginie.  Well, 
he  just  jokes  with  them,  but  it  doesn't  go  any  further,  I'm 
sure.' 

The  young  woman,  still  standing  there,  her  face  covered 
with  perspiration,  while  water  dripped  from  her  arms, 
remained  staring  at  the  doorkeeper  with  fixed  and  penetrating 
eyes.  Thereupon  Madame  Boche  got  excited,  dealt  herself  a 
blow  on  the  chest,  and  pledged  her  word  of  honour.  *  I  know 
nothing,'  she  cried,  *  I  mean  it  when  I  say  so !  '  Then, 
calming  herself,  she  added  in  an  insinuating  voice,  as  if 
speaking  to  a  person  whom  the  truth  would  in  no  wise 
benefit,  '  I  think  he  has  frank  eyes.  He'll  marry  you,  my 
dear,  I'm  sure  of  it ! ' 

Gervaise  passed  her  wet  hand  over  her  brow ;  and  then 
shook  her  head  as  she  drew  another  article  of  clothing  from 
the  water.  For  a  while  both  women  remained  silent. 
Quietude  was  falhng  around  them ;  eleven  o'clock  was 
striking.  Half  the  women,  with  one  leg  resting  on  the  edges 
of  their  tubs,  and  open  bottles  of  wine  standing  at  their  feet, 
were  eating  improvised  sausage  sandwiches.  Only  those 
who  had  families,  and  had  come  just  to  wash  their  own  little 
bundles,  hurried  on  with  their  work  after  glancing  at  the 
clock  which  hung  above  the  office.  Thus  a  few  beetle  strokes 
were  still  heard,  at  intervals  between  the  low  laughter  and 
chatter  which  grew  indistinct  amidst  all  the  greedy  crunching 
of  jaws;  whilst  the  steam-engine,  working  on  without  truce 
or  rest,  seemed  to  raise  its  vibrating,  snorting  voice  more 
loudly  until  it  filled  the  immense  building.  However,  not  one 
of  the  women  noticed  it ;  it  was  like  the  very  breathing  of  the 
wash-house — a  scorching  breath  which  ever  increased  the  mist 
that  incessantly  floated  beneath  the  ceiling  beams.  The  heat 
was  becoming  unbearable.  Bays  of  sunshine  entered  through 
the  lofty  windows  on  the  left,  illumining  the  smoky  vapour 
with  opalescent  patches  of  pale  pink  and  soft  bluish  grey ; 
and,  as  complaints  began  to  rise,  the  porter,  Charles,  went 
from  one  window  to  the  other  to  lower  the  coarse  linen 
blinds.  Then  he  crossed  to  the  other  side,  the  shady  one, 
and  opened  some  of  the  casements.  At  this  he  was  saluted 
with  acclamations  and  clapping  of  hands.  Boisterous  gaiety 
passed  over  all.    And  soon    even    the    last    beetles    were 


DESERTION  17 

hushed.  The  women,  whose  mouths  were  full,  merely  made 
gestures  with  the  open  knives  they  held  ;  the  silence  becom- 
ing so  general  that  at  the  further  end  of  the  wash-house,  at 
regular  intervals,  one  could  hear  the  grating  of  the  stoker's 
shovel,  as  he  scooped  up  coals  and  threw  them  into  the 
engine  furnace. 

Gervaise  meantime  was  washing  her  coloured  things  in 
the  hot  soapy  water  which  she  had  kept.  When  she  had 
finished,  she  drew  a  horse  towards  her  and  hung  the  different 
articles  over  it,  their  drippings  fast  making  bluish  puddles  on 
the  floor.  Then  she  began  to  rinse.  Behind  her,  the  cold 
water  flowed  from  a  tap  into  a  capacious  tub,  which  was  fixed 
to  the  ground,  while  across  it  were  two  wooden  bars  whereon 
to  lay  the  clothes.  High  up  in  the  air  were  two  other  bars 
whence  other  things  finished  dripping. 

*  We've  almost  finished,  and  it's  not  a  pity,'  said  Madame 
Boohe.     *  I'll  just  wait  to  help  you  wring  all  that.' 

'  Oh  1  it's  not  worth  while,  thanks,'  replied  the  young 
woman,  who  was  kneading  and  sousing  the  coloured  things 
in  some  clean  water.  '  If  I'd  any  sheets,  it  would  be  another 
matter.' 

However,  she  had  to  accept  the  doorkeeper's  assistance  ; 
and,  one  at  each  end,  they  were  wringing  between  them  a 
flimsy  woollen  skirt  of  a  washed-out  chestnut  hue,  whence 
dribbled  a  yellowish  water,  when  Madame  Boche  exclaimed  : 
'  Why,  there's  tall  Virginie  !  What  has  she  come  to  wash, 
with  her  three  or  four  rags  in  a  pocket-handkerchief  ? ' 

Gervaise  quickly  raised  her  head.  Virginie  was  a  girl  of 
her  own  age,  taller  than  she  was,  dark  and  pretty,  although 
her  face  seemed  rather  long.  She  wore  an  old  flounced 
black  dress  with  a  red  ribbon  round  her  neck  ;  and  her  hair 
was  done  up  carefully,  the  chignon  gathered  within  a  blue 
silk  net.  She  remained  for  an  instant  in  the  middle  of 
the  central  alley,  screwing  up  her  eyes  as  though  she 
were  seeking  some  one;  and,  when  she  had  caught  sight 
of  Gervaise,  she  came  right  past  her,  with  an  insolent 
swinging  gait,  and  took  a  place  in  the  same  row,  five  tubs 
away. 

*  There's  a  freak  for  you  ! '  continued  Madame  Boche,  in 
a  lower  tone.  *  Why,  as  a  rule,  she  never  even  washes  a  pair 
of  cuffs.  She's  a  regular  slut,  I  tell  you.  A  dressmaker, 
indeed,  who  doesn't  even  sew  the  buttons  on  her  own  boots  ! 
It's  the  same  with  her  sister  Adele,  the  burnisher,  who  shirks 

c 


£8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  workshop  two  days  out  of  three  !  They  know  neither  their 
father  nor  mother,  and  live  nobody  knows  how ;  and  if  one 
cared  to  talk — but  no  matter.  What's  that  she's  rubbing? 
A  petticoat,  eh  !     Isn't  it  filthy  ? ' 

Madame  Boche  was  evidently  trying  to  make  herself 
agreeable  to  Gervaise.  Truth  to  tell,  she  often  took  coffee 
with  Adele  and  Virginie,  when  the  girls  were  in  funds. 
However,  Gervaise  did  not  answer,  but  hurried  over  her  work 
with  feverish  hands.  She  had  just  prepared  her  blue  in  a 
little  three-legged  tub,  into  which  she  dipped  the  linen  things, 
stirring  them  for  a  moment  in  the  coloured  water,  which  here 
and  there  showed  a  slight  pinky  tinge ;  and,  after  lightly 
wringing  them,  she  spread  them  out  over  the  wooden  bars 
above  her.  While  she  was  thus  occupied  she  made  a  point 
of  turning  her  back  on  Virginie,  but  she  heard  the  other's 
chuckles,  and  could  feel,  as  it  were,  her  sidelong  glances. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  Virginie  had  only  come  there  to  provoke 
her.  At  one  moment,  Gervaise  having  turned,  they  both 
stared  fixedly  into  each  other's  face. 

'  Leave  her  alone,'  muttered  Madame  Boche.  '  You're  not 
going  to  pull  one  another's  hair  out,  I  hope.  When  I  tell 
you  that  there's  nothing  1     It  isn't  her,  there!  ' 

At  this  moment,  as  the  young  woman  was  hanging  up 
the  last  of  the  things  she  had  washed,  a  sound  of  laughter 
arose  jit  the  doorway. 

'  Here  are  two  youngsters  asking  for  their  mamma ! '  cried 
Charles. 

All  the  women  leant  forward,  and  Gervaise  recognised 
Claude  and  Etienne.  As  soon  as  they  caught  sight  of 
her  they  ran  to  her  through  the  puddles,  with  the  heels 
of  their  unlaced  shoes  resounding  on  the  flagstones. 
Claude,  the  elder,  held  his  little  brother  by  the  hand.  And 
the  women,  as  they  passed  by,  gave  vent  to  little  fondling 
exclamations  on  noticing  their  somewhat  frightened,  though 
smiling  faces.  Raising  their  fair  heads  they  stood  before 
their  mother,  without  leaving  go  of  one  another's  hand. 

'  Has  pa}  a  sent^you  ?  '  asked  Gervaise.  But  as  she  stooped 
to  tie  the  laces  of  Etienne's  shoes,  she  noticed  that  from  one  of 
Claude's  fingers  hung  the  key  of  their  room,  the  numbered 
brass  label  of  which  was  swinging. 

Why,  you've  brought  the  key  !  '  said  she,  greatly  sur- 
prised.    '  What's  that  for  ?  ' 

Then  the  child,  seeing  the  key,  which  he  had  forgotten,  on 


DESERTION  19 

his  finger,  appeared  to  recollect,  and  cried  out,  in  his  clear 
voice,  '  Papa's  gone.' 

*  He's  gone  to  buy  the  lunch,  and  told  you  to  come  here 
to  fetch  me  ?  ' 

Claude  looked  at  his  brother  and  hesitated,  no  longer  re- 
collecting.    But   afterwards  he   resumed,   all  in   a   breath  : 

*  Papa's  gone.  He  jumped  off  the  bed,  put  all  his  things  in 
the  box,  and  carried  the  box  down  to  a  cab.     He's  gone.' 

At  this  Gervaise,  who  was  squatting,  slowly  drew  herself 
erect,  her  face  ghastly  pale.  She  raised  her  hands  to  her 
cheeks  and  temples,  as  though  she  felt  her  head  splitting ; 
and  could  find  only  these  words,  which  she  repeated  twenty 
times  in  the  same  tone  of  voice  :  '  Ah  !  good  heavens  ! — ah  ! 
good  heavens  l—ah  !  good  heavens  !  ' 

Madame  Boche,  however,  quite  excited  at  the  chance  of 
hearing  the  story,  began  in  her  turn  to  question  the  child : 

•  Come,  Uttle  one,  you  must  tell  us  just  what  happened. 
It  was  he  who  locked  the  door  and  who  told  you  to  bring  the 
key,  wasn't  it  ?  '  And,  lowering  her  voice,  she  whispered  in 
Claude's  ear  :  *  Was  there  a  lady  in  the  cab  ?  ' 

The  child  again  got  confused,  but  immediately  afterwards 
repeated  his  story  in  a  triumphant  manner :  *  He  jumped 
off  the  bed,  he  put  all  his  things  in  the  box.  He's  gone.' 
Then,  as  soon  as  Madame  Boche  let  him  go,  the  lad  drew  his 
brother  to  the  tap,  and  they  amused  themselves  by  turning 
on  the  water. 

Gervaise  was  unable  to  weep.  She  was  choking,  leaning 
back  against  her  tub  with  her  face  still  buried  in  her  hands. 
Fits  of  shivering  shook  her,  and  then  at  times  a  long  sigh 
escaped  her,  whilst  she  pressed  her  fists  more  closely  to  her 
eyes,  as  though  to  bury  herself  in  the  darkness  of  her  aban- 
donment ;  it  was  a  gloomy  abyss,  to  the  very  bottom  of 
which  she  seemed  to  fall. 

'  Come,  my  dear,  pull  yourself  together  I '  murmured 
Madame  Boche. 

*  Ah  !  if  you  only  knew  !  if  you  only  knew  ! '  said  Gervaise, 
very  faintly,  at  last.  *  He  sent  me  this  morning  to  pawn  my 
shawl  and  my  shifts  to  pay  for  that  cab.' 

Then  she  burst  into  tears.  The  recollection  of  her  errand 
to  the  pawn-place,  which  fixed  in  her  mind  one  of  the  events 
of  the  morning,  had  drawn  forth  the  sobs  which  were  choking 
her.  That  errand  was  an  abomination — her  greatest  grief  in 
her  despair.    Her  tears  ran  down  upon  her  chin,  which  her 

o2 


20  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

hands  had  already  wetted,  yet  she  never  even  thought  of 
taking  out  a  handkerchief. 

*  Be  reasonable,  come,  be  quiet ;  everyone's  looking  at 
you,*  repeated  Madame  Boche,  who  hovered  round  her. 
*  How  can  you  worry  yourself  so  much  on  account  of  a  man  ? 
So  you  loved  him,  all  the  same,  eh,  my  poor  darling  ?  Why, 
a  little  while  ago  you  were  saying  all  sorts  of  things  against 
him ;  and  now  you're  crying  for  him,  and  almost  breaking 
your  heart.  Dear  me,  how  silly  we  all  are ! '  Then  she 
became  quite  maternal.  *  A  pretty  little  woman  like  you  !  can 
it  be  possible  ?  One  may  tell  you  everything  now,  I  suppose. 
Well !  I  already  had  my  suspicions  this  morning  when  I 
passed  under  your  window.  Just  fancy,  last  night  I  saw 
M.  Lantier  and  Adele  together.  And  my  man  saw  him  this 
morning  before  he  went  home  to  you.'  The  doorkeeper 
paused  for  a  moment,  turning  about,  and  then  resuming,  in 
her  full  voice,  which  she  tried  to  subdue  :  '  That  heartless 
thing  yonder,  Adele's  sister,  you  know,  is  laughing  at  seeing 
you  cry.  I'd  stake  my  life  that  her  washing's  all  a  pretence. 
She's  packed  off  the  other  two,  and  she's  come  here  so  as  to 
be  able  to  tell  them  how  you  take  it.' 

Gervaise  removed  her  hands  from  her  face  and  looked; 
and  when,  in  front  of  her,  among  a  little  knot  of  women,  she 
beheld  Virginie  speaking  low  and  staring  at  her,  she  was 
seized  wish  a  mad  rage.  With  her  arms  thrust  forward, 
seeking,  as  it  were,  for  something  on  the  ground,  she  revolved 
on  herself,  trembling  in  every  Umb,  then  took  a  few  steps,  and 
noticing  a  bucket  full  of  water,  caught  it  up  with  both  hands, 
and  with  all  her  strength  hurled  the  contents  at  the  other. 

'  The  dirty  beast ! '  yelled  tall  Virginie. 

She  had  stepped  back,  and  her  boots  alone  were  wetted. 
The  other  women,  who  for  some  minutes  had  all  been  greatly 
upset  by  Gervaise's  tears,  jostled  each  other  in  their  anxiety 
to  see  the  fight.  Some,  who  were  finishing  their  lunch, 
sprang  upon  their  overturned  tubs,  others  hastened  forward 
Btill  holding  their  soap.     A  ring  was  formed. 

'  Ah  !  the  beast ! '  repeated  tall  Virginie.  -  What's  the 
matter  with  her  ?  she's  mad  !  ' 

Gervaise,  standing  as  it  were  at  bay,  her  chin  thrust  out 
and  her  features  convulsed,  said  nothing,  not  having  yet 
acquired  the  Parisian  gift  of  the  gab.  But  the  other  con- 
tinued :  '  The  dirty  thing.  She's  come  here  because  she's  tired 
of  wallowing  in  the  country.     Oh  1  she  carried  on  finely  in 


DESERTION  ai 

her  native  place  ;  she  left  one  of  her  legs  behind  her  there. 
It  fell  off;  it  was  rotting  away.' 

The  onlookers  burst  out  laughing  at  this  allusion  to 
Gervaise's  lameness,  and  Virginie,  observing  her  success, 
advanced  a  couple  of  steps,  drawing  herself  up  to  her  full 
height,  and  yelhng  louder  than  ever :  *  Here  !  come  a  bit 
nearer,  just  to  see  how  I'll  settle  you !  Don't  you  get 
annoying  us  here.  Do  I  even  know  her,  the  hussy  ?  If 
she'd  wetted  me,  I'd  have  pretty  soon  have  given  her  a  hiding. 
Let  her  just  say  what  I've  ever  done  to  her.  Speak,  you 
vixen  ;  what's  been  done  to  you  ?  * 

'Don't  chatter  so  much,'  stammered  Gervaise.  *  You 
know  well  enough.  Some  one  saw  my  husband  last  night — 
And  just  shut  up,  because  if  you  don't,  I'll  most  certainly 
strangle  you.' 

*  Her  husband  1  Ah  !  that's  a  good  joke,  that  is ! 
Madame's  husband !  as  if  a  creature  like  her  had  a  husband  ! 
It  isn't  my  fault  if  he's  chucked  you  up.  You  don't  suppose 
I've  stolen  him,  do  you  ?  I'm  ready  to  be  searched.  Did  he 
have  his  collar  on  ?  Who's  found  madame's  husband  ? 
There's  a  reward  promised ! ' 

The  laughter  burst  forth  again.  Gervaise  still  contented 
herself  with  murmuring,  almost  in  a  whisper  :  *  You  know 
well  enough,  you  know  well  enough.  It's  your  sister,  I'll 
strangle  her — your  sister.' 

'  Just  go  and  try  it  on  with  my  sister,'  resumed  Virginie, 
sneeringly.  '  Ah !  it's  she,  is  it  ?  Well,  that's  quite 
possible,  she's  a  trifle  more  stylish  than  you  are  ;  but  what's 
it  all  to  me  ?  Can't  one  come  and  wash  one's  clothes  in  peace 
now  ?  So  dry  up,  d'ye  hear,  because  I've  had  enough  of  it ! ' 
However,  it  was  she  who,  after  giving  five  or  six  strokes 
with  her  beetle,  returned  to  the  attack,  intoxicated  as  she 
was  by  the  insults  she  had  vented,  stirred  by  her  own  abuse 
into  a  fit  of  fiery  passion.  She  left  off  washing  and  thrice 
renewed  her  onset :  *  Well,  yes  !  it's  my  sister.  There  now, 
does  that  satisfy  you  ?  They  adore  each  other.  You  should 
iust  see  them  !  And  he's  left  you  with  those  ugly  brats  of 
yours !  One  of  'em's  by  a  gendarme,  isn't  he  ?  and  you 
made  away  with  three  others  because  you  didn't  want  to  have 
to  pay  for  extra  luggage  on  your  journey.  It's  your  Lantier 
who  told  us  that.  Ah  !  he's  been  telling  some  fine  things  ; 
he'd  had  quite  enough  of  you  !  ' 

*  You  filthy  wretch !  you  wretch  !  you   wretch  I  *  yelled 


22  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Gervaise,  quite  beside  herself,  and  again  seized  with  a 
passionate  trembling.  She  turned  round,  once  more  search- 
ing on  the  ground  ;  and  only  finding  the  little  three-legged 
tub  near  her,  she  caught  hold  of  it  and  flung  the  whole  of 
the  blue  water  it  contained  at  Virginie's  face. 

*  The  cow  !  she's  spoilt  my  dress  !  '  cried  the  latter,  one  of 
whose  shoulders  was  sopping  wet,  and  whose  left  hand  was 
dyed  blue.     *  Wait  a  minute  you  muckheap  ! ' 

Then  in  her  turn  she  seized  a  bucket,  and  emptied  it  over 
the  young  woman.  And  forthwith  a  formidable  battle  began. 
Both  ran  along  the  rows  of  tubs,  caught  hold  of  the  pails 
that  were  full,  and  dashed  the  contents  at  one  another's 
heads.  And  each  deluge  was  accompanied  by  a  volley  of 
coarse  insults.  Gervaise  had  now  found  her  tongue,  and  was 
as  ready  with  abuse  as  the  other. 

*  There  !  you  dirty  beast  I     That'll  help  to  cool  you.* 

*  Ah !  that's  for  your  filth.  Wash  yourself,  for  once  in 
your  life.' 

'  Wait  a  bit,  I'll  take  the  salt  out  of  you,  you  dried  cod- 
fish.' 

'There's  another  dose!  Just  to  rinse  your  teeth  and 
make  you  smart  for  to-night.' 

They  ended  by  turning  on  the  taps,  and  whilst  waiting  for 
their  buckets  to  fill  they  continued  to  assail  each  other  with 
vile  words.  The  first  pailfuls,  badly  aimed,  scarcely  touched 
them ;  but  they  soon  became  expert.  It  was  Virginie  who  first 
received  one  full  in  the  face  ;  the  water  entering  at  the  neck  of 
her  dress,  and  running  down  her  back  and  bosom.  She  was 
still  quite  giddy  with  the  shock,  when  a  second  pailful  caught 
her  side-ways,  giving  her  a  sharp  blow  on  the  left  ear,  and 
soaking  her  chignon,  which  unrolled  like  a  ball  of  string.  Ger- 
vaise was  first  hit  in  the  legs  ;  the  water  filled  her  shoes  and  re- 
bounded to  her  knees  ;  two  other  pailfuls  inundated  her  to  the 
hips.  Soon,  however,  it  became  impossible  to  particularise 
the  hits.  Both  women  were  dripping  from  head  to  heel,  their 
dress-bodies  sticking  to  their  shoulders,  their  skirts  clinging 
to  their  loins  ;  and  shivering,  stiffened,  emaciated,  so  to  say, 
they  threw  off  water  on  all  sides  like  umbrellas  during  a  heavy 
shower. 

*  They  look  jolly  funny !  '  said  one  of  the  bystanders,  in  a 
hoarse  voice. 

Every  one  in  the  wash-house  was  highly  amused.  The 
onlookers  had  drawn  back  in  order  to  avoid  being  splashed. 


DESERTION  23 

Applause  and  jests  arose  amidst  the  sluice-like  noise  of  the 
water  flung  with  full  strength  from  the  buckets.  On  the  floor 
large  puddles  were  running  one  into  another,  and  the  two 
women  were  wading  in  them  to  their  ankles.  Virginie,  how- 
ever, who  had  been  meditating  a  treacherous  move,  suddenly 
caught  up  a  pail  of  boiling  lye,  which  one  of  her  neighbours 
had  ordered,  and  threw  the  hot  liquid  at  her  antagonist.  A 
general  outcry  arose.  Every  one  thought  that  Gervaise  was 
scalded  ;  but  only  her  left  foot  had  been  shghtly  hurt.  And, 
exasperated  by  the  pain,  she  in  her  turn  seized  a  bucket 
without  troubling  to  fill  it,  and  threw  it  with  all  her  strength 
at  the  legs  of  Virginie,  who  fell  to  the  ground.  All  the  women 
then  spoke  together. 

*  She's  broken  one  of  her  limbs  ! ' 

*  Well,  the  other  tried  to  cook  her ! ' 

*  The  fair  one's  right,  after  all,  if  her  man's  been  taken  from 
her!' 

Madame  Boche  had  raised  her  arms  to  heaven.,  uttering  all 
sorts  of  exclamations.  She  had  prudently  retreated  out  of  the 
way  between  two  tubs  ;  and  the  children,  Claude  and  Etienne, 
crying,  choking  and  terrified,  clung  to  her  dress,  with  a  con- 
tinuous cry  of  *  Mamma  !  mamma  ! '  broken  by  repeated  sob- 
bing. However,  when  the  doorkeeper  saw  Virginie  fall  she 
hastened  forward,  and  tried  to  pull  Gervaise  away  by  her  skirt, 
repeating  the  while :  *  Come  now,  go  home !  be  reasonable. 
On  my  word,  it's  quite  upset  me.  Never  was  such  a  butchery 
seen  before.* 

Then  she  had  to  draw  back  and  again  seek  refuge  between 
the  tubs,  with  the  two  children,  for  Virginie  had  just  flown  at 
Gervaise's  throat.  She  squeezed  her  round  the  neck,  trying 
to  strangle  her,  but  the  other  freed  herself  with  a  violent  jerk, 
and  in  her  turn  hung  on  to  the  tail  of  Virginie's  chignon,  as 
though  she  wished  to  pull  her  head  off.  And  the  battle  was 
resumed  in  silence,  without  a  cry,  without  an  insult.  They 
did  not  seize  each  other  round  the  body,  but  they  attacked 
each  other's  face  with  open  hands  and  clawing  fingers,  pinch- 
ing and  scratching  whatever  they  caught  hold  of.  The  tall, 
dark  girl's  red  ribbon  and  blue  silk  hair-net  were  torn  off,  and 
her  dress  body  gave  way  at  the  neck  in  such  wise  that  one  of 
her  shoulders  became  exposed  ;  whilst  the  blonde,  without 
knowing  how,  lost  a  sleeve  of  her  loose  white  jacket  and  even 
a  strip  of  her  underlinen.  Shreds  of  stuff  flew  in  all  directions. 
It  was  from  Gervaise  that  the  first  blood  was  drawn,  by  three 


24  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

long  scratches  descending  from  the  mouth  to  the  throat ;  and 
for  fear  of  having  her  eyes  torn  out  she  sought  to  protect  them 
by  shuttmg  them  at  every  grab  the  other  made.  No  blood 
showed  on  Virginie  as  yet.  Gervaise  aimed  at  her  ears,  mad- 
dened at  not  being  able  to  reach  them  ;  but  at  last  she 
managed  to  grasp  an  earring — an  imitation  pear  in  yellow 
glass — which  she  pulled  with  such  force  that  she  slit  the  ear, 
and  the  blood  flowed. 

'  They're  killing  each  other  I  Separate  them,  the  vixens  I  * 
exclaimed  several  voices. 

The  other  women  had  drawn  nearer,  formed  into  two 
camps.  Some  excited  the  combatants  in  the  same  way  as  a 
mob  will  urge  on  snarling  curs,  while  the  others,  more  nervous 
and  all  in  a  tremble,  averted  their  heads,  having  had  enough  of 
it  already,  and  declaring  that  it  would  surely  make  them  ill. 
With  such  divergency  of  views,  a  general  battle  seemed  immi- 
nent. Some  bystanders  called  each  other  heartless  and  good 
for  nothing  ;  bare  arms  were  thrust  out  and  three  slaps  were 
heard. 

Madame  Boche,  meanwhile,  was  trying  to  discover  the 
wash-house  porter :  *  Charles !  Charles  !  Wherever  has  he 
got  to  ? ' 

At  last  she  found  him  in  the  front  rank,  looking  on  with 
folded  arms.  He  was  a  strapping  fellow,  with  a  thick  neck, 
and  judging  by  his  laughter  he  much  enjoyed  the  sight  of  the 
battle  waging  between  Gervaise  and  Virginie. 

*  What  I  you're  there  ?  '  cried  Madame  Boche,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  him.  *  Just  come  and  help  us  to  separate  them.  You 
can  easily  separate  them,  you  can  I ' 

'  Oh,  no  !  thank  you,  not  if  I  know  it,'  he  answered  coolly. 
*  To  get  my  eye  scratched  like  I  did  the  other  day,  I  suppose ! 
I'm  not  here  for  that  sort  of  thing  ;  I  should  have  too  much 
work  if  I  was.  Don't  be  afraid,  a  little  bleeding  will  do  'em 
good  ;  it'll  soften  'em.' 

Thereupon  the  doorkeeper  talked  of  fetching  the  police ; 
but  the  mistress  of  the  wash-house,  the  delicate  young  woman 
with  the  sore  eyes,  would  not  allow  her  to  do  so.  She  kept 
on  saying :  *  No,  no,  I  won't ;  it  would  compromise  my 
establishment. 

Meantime,  the  struggle  on  the  ground  continued,  with 
varying  fortune,  till  Virginie  suddenly  raised  herself  upon  her 
knees.  She  had  just  caught  hold  of  a  beetle  and  was  brand- 
ishing it.    There  was  a  rattling  in  her  throat,  as,  in  a  strangely 


DESERTION  25 

altered  voice,  she  exclaimed,  *  Here's  something  that'll  settle 
you  !     Get  your  dirty  linen  ready  !  ' 

Gervaise  quickly  thrust  out  her  hand,  and  also  grasped  a 
beetle,  which  she  held  aloft  Hke  a  club  ;  and  she  too  spoke  in  a 
hoarse,  choking  voice.  '  Ah  !  you  want  to  go  in  for  the  big 
washing,  do  you  !  Just  let  me  get  hold  of  your  skin  that  I 
may  beat  it  into  dish-cloths  I ' 

For  a  moment  they  remained  there,  on  their  knees, 
menacing  each  other.  Dishevelled,  with  their  hair  streaming 
over  their  faces,  their  breasts  heaving,  muddy,  swelling  with 
rage,  they  watched  one  another,  as  they  waited  and  drew 
breath.  Gervaise  dealt  the  first  blow.  Her  beetle  glided  off 
Virginie's  shoulder,  and  she  at  once  threw  herself  on  one  side 
to  avoid  the  latter's  weapon,  which  grazed  her  hip.  Then, 
warming  to  their  work,  they  struck  at  each  other  Hke  washer- 
women strike  their  linen,  heavily  and  in  time.  Whenever 
there  was  a  hit,  there  came  a  muffled  sound  as  of  a  blow  in  a 
tub  full  of  water.  The  other  women  around  them  no  longer 
laughed.  Several  had  gone  off  saying  that  it  quite  upset  them  ; 
and  the  ones  who  remained  craned  out  their  necks,  their  eyes 
glittering  with  a  touch  of  cruelty  whilst  they  expressed  the 
opinion  that  those  two  hussies  were  frightfully  plucky.  Ma- 
dame Boche  had  led  Claude  and  iStienne  away,  and  from  the 
other  end  of  the  building  came  the  sound  of  their  sobs 
minghng  with  the  sonorous  shocks  of  the  beetles.  But  Gervaise 
suddenly  yelled,  for  Virginie  had  dealt  her  a  mighty  whack  on 
her  bare  arm  just  above  the  elbow.  Forthwith,  a  large  red 
blotch  appeared  and  the  flesh  began  to  swell.  Then  Gervaise 
in  turn  threw  herself  upon  Virginie,  and  every  one  thought  she 
was  going  to  beat  her  to  death. 

*  Enough  !  enough  ! '  cried  the  bystanders. 

But  her  face  bore  such  a  terrible  expression,  that  no  one 
dared  to  approach  her.  Her  strength  seemed  to  have  increased 
tenfold.  She  seized  Virginie  round  the  waist,  bent  her  down 
in  spite  of  all  her  struggles,  pressed  her  face  against  the  flag- 
stones and  half  tore  away  her  garments.  And  then,  raising 
her  beetle,  she  began  to  beat  her  as  she  had  been  wont  to 
beat  linen  at  Plassans,  on  the  banks  of  the  Viorne,  when  her 
mistress  washed  for  the  garrison.  And  at  every  whack  a  red 
weal  appeared  on  Virginie's  skin. 

For  a  moment  laughter  again  burst  forth,  but  then  the 
cry,  *  Enough  !  enough  ! '  began  afresh.  However,  Gervaise 
heard  not,  neither  did  she  tire.     She  was  determined  that  the 


26  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

chastisement  should  be  complete.  And,  seized  with  a  ferocious 
gaiety,  recalling  a  well-known  washer-woman's  song,  she 
repeated  :  *  Bang  !  bang  !  Margot  at  her  tub — Bang  !  bang  ! 
with  a  great  rub-a-dub — Bang  1  bang  !  would  wash  her  heart 
so — Bang  !  bang  !  all  blackened  by  woe  ! ' 

Then  she  began  afresh,  '  That's  for  you,  that's  for  your 
sister,  that's  for  Lantier.  When  you  next  see  them,  you  can 
give  them  that.  Attention  I  I'm  going  to  begin  again.  That's 
for  Lantier,  that's  for  your  sister,  that's  for  you.  Bang  1  bang  ! 
Margot  at  her  tub— Bang  !  bang  !  with  a  great  rub-a-dub ' 

The  others  were  obliged  to  drag  Virginie  from  her.  The 
tall  girl,  her  face  bathed  in  tears  and  purple  with  shame, 
picked  up  her  things  and  fled.  She  was  vanquished.  Then 
Gervaise  slipped  on  the  sleeve  of  her  jacket  again  and  fastened 
up  her  petticoats.  Her  arm  pained  her  a  good  deal,  and 
unable  to  hoist  her  bundle,  she  asked  Madame  Boche  to  place 
It  on  her  shoulder.  While  doing  so  the  doorkeeper  referred 
to  the  battle,  spoke  of  her  emotions,  and  talked  of  examining 
the  young  woman's  person.  *  For,'  said  she,  *  you  may, 
perhaps,  have  something  broken.  I  heard  such  a  tremendous 
blow.' 

But  Gervaise  wanted  to  go  home.     She  made  no  reply  to 
the  pitying  remarks  and  voluble  congratulations  of  the  other 
women  who  surrounded  her,  erect  in  their  aprons.    When  • 
she  was  laden  she  gained  the  door,  where  the  children  awaited 
her. 

'  Two  hours,  that  makes  two  sous,'  said  the  mistress  of 
the  wash-house,  who  was  already  back  at  her  post  in  the 
glazed  closet. 

Why  two  sous  ?  She  no  longer  imderstood  that  she  was 
asked  to  pay  for  her  place  there.  However,  she  gave  the  two 
sous  ;  and,  limping  very  much  beneath  the  weight  of  the  wet 
washing  on  her  shoulder,  with  water  dripping  from  her,  her 
elbow  black  and  blue,  her  cheek  smeared  with  blood,  she 
went  off,  dragging  Claude  and  Etienne,  who  trotted  along  on 
either  side  of  her,  still  trembling,  and  their  faces  wet  with 
tears. 

Behind  her,  the  wash-house  once  more  gave  forth  a  great 
sluice-like  noise.  The  women  had  eaten  their  bread  and 
drunk  their  wine,  and  now  they  beat  harder  than  ever, 
enlivened  by  the  set-to  between  Gervaise  and  Virginie.  All 
along  the  rows  of  tubs  arms  were  again  working  furiously, 
whilst  angular,  puppet-like  profiles,  bent  backs  and  distorted 


DESERTION  27 

shoulders,  kept  jerking  as  though  on  hinges.  Chattering 
continued  along  the  different  alleys,  laughter  and  coarse 
remarks  mingling  with  the  gurghng  sound  of  the  water. 
The  taps  were  running,  the  buckets  over-flowing,  and  quite  a 
little  river  streamed  along  beneath  the  washing-places.  It  was 
the  moment  of  the  afternoon's  great  effort,  when  the  beetles 
fairly  pounded  the  clothes.  The  vapour  floating  about  the 
spacious  building  assumed  a  reddish  hue,  transpierced  here 
and  there  by  discs  of  sunshine,  golden  balls  which  found 
admittance  through  the  holes  in  the  blinds.  And  the  atmo- 
sphere, laden  with  soapy  odours,  was  lukewarm  and  stifling. 
Then  suddenly  the  place  became  full  of  a  white  vapour.  The 
huge  lid  of  the  copper  where  the  lye  was  boiling  rose 
mechanically  on  a  central  toothed  rod,  and  from  the  gaping 
metal  cavity  set  in  brickwork  came  volumes  of  steam  charged 
with  the  sweet  savour  of  potash.  Close  by  the  wringers 
were  in  motion.  Bundles  of  wet  clothes,  inserted  between 
the  cast-iron  cylinders,  yielded  forth  their  water  at  one  turn 
of  the  wheel  of  the  panting,  smoking  machine,  which  shook 
the  building  more  and  more  with  the  continuous  working  of 
its  arms  of  steel. 

When  Gervaise  set  foot  in  the  passage-entry  of  the  H6tel 
Boncoeur  her  tears  again  mastered  her.  It  was  a  dark, 
narrow  corridor,  with  a  gutter  for  dirty  water  running  along- 
side one  wall ;  and  the  stench  which  she  again  encountered 
there  made  her  think  of  the  fortnight  she  had  passed  in  the 
place  with  Lantier — a  fortnight  of  misery  and  quarrelling,  the 
recollection  of  which  was  now  fraught  with  bitter  regret.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  were  plunging  into  abandonment. 

Upstairs  the  room  was  bare,  and  full  of  sunshine,  for  the 
window  stood  open.  That  blaze  of  light,  that  dancing  golden 
dust  emphasized  the  wretchedness  of  the  blackened  ceiling 
and  dirty  walls,  whose  paper  was  half  torn  awa^ .  The  only 
thing  left  hanging  there — from  a  nail  above  the  chimney- 
piece — was  a  woman's  small  neckerchief,  twisted  like  a  piece 
of  string.  The  children's  bedstead  had  been  drawn  into  the 
middle  of  the  room,  allowing  a  full  view  of  the  chest  of 
drawers,  the  latter  standing  open  and  revealing  aU  their 
emptiness.  Lantier  had  washed  himseii  and  used  the  very 
last  of  the  pomatum — a  penn'orth  of  pomatum  on  a  playing 
card ;  the  greasy  water  from  his  hands  still  filled  the  basin. 
And  he  had  forgotten  nothing.  The  corner  hitherto  filled  by 
the  trunk  seemed  to   Gervaise  an  immense  empty  space 


28  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Even  the  little  hand-glass  which  hung  from  the  window- 
fastening  was  gone.  When  she  made  this  discovery  she  had 
a  presentiment,  and  glanced  at  the  mantel-piece.  Lantier 
had  taken  away  the  pawn- tickets ;  the  pink  bundle  was  no 
longer  lying  there  between  the  odd  zinc  candlesticks. 

She  hung  her  washing  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  and 
remained  standing,  turning  round  and  examining  the 
furniture,  overcome  by  such  stupor  that  her  tears  could  no 
longer  flow.  One  sou  alone  remained  to  her  of  the  four 
which  she  had  kept  for  the  wash-house.  Then,  on  hearing 
Claude  and  Etienne,  who  already  felt  consoled,  laughing  at 
the  window,  she  went  up  to  them,  mother  like,  took  their  heads 
under  her  arms,  and  for  an  instant  forgot  everything  as  she 
gazed  on  that  grey  highway,  where  she  had  beheld  in  the 
morning  the  awakening  of  the  toilers,  the  dawn  of  the  giant 
labour  of  Paris.  At  this  hour  the  pavement,  warmed  by  all 
the  work  of  the  day,  sent  a  scorching  reverberation  up  above 
the  city,  behind  the  octroi  wall.  It  was  on  that  pavement,  in 
that  furnace-like  atmosphere,  that  she  was  cast  all  alone  with 
her  little  ones ;  and  her  eyes  wandered  up  and  down  the  outer 
Boulevards,  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  pausing  at  either 
end  as  covert  terror  fell  upon  her,  as  though  her  Ufe  would 
henceforth  lie  within  those  limits— a  slaughter-house  and  a 
hospital. 


n 

COURTSHIP 

Three  weeks  later,  towards  half-past  eleven,  one  beautiful 
sunshiny  day,  Gervaise  and  Coupeau,  the  zinc-worker,  were 
each  partaking  of  a  plum  preserved  in  brandy,  at  old 
Oolombe's  '  Assommoir.'  Coupeau,  who  had  been  smoking  a 
cigarette  on  the  pavement,  had  prevailed  on  her  to  go  inside, 
when  she  happened  to  cross  the  road  on  her  return  from 
taking  a  customer's  washing  home ;  and  her  big  square 
laundress's  basket  was  on  the  floor  beside  her,  behind  the 
little  zinc-covered  table. 

Old  Colombe's  *  Assommoir  '  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
des  Poissonniers  and  the  Boulevard  de  Eochechouart.  The 
inscription  outiside  consisted  of  the  one  word  *  Distillation,'  in 


COURTSHIP  29 

tall  blue  letters,  running  above  the  front  from  one  end  to  the 
other.  On  either  side  of  the  doorway,  planted  in  the  two 
halves  of  a  barrel,  were  some  dusty  oleanders.  The  huge 
bar,  with  its  rows  of  glasses,  its  filter  and  pewter  measures, 
stretched  away  to  the  left  on  entering;  and  the  spacious 
apartment  was  ornamented  all  round  with  big  barrels  painted  a 
light  yellow,  shining  with  varnish,  and  having  ghttering  hoops 
and  taps  of  brass.  Bottles  of  liqueurs,  glass  jars  full  of  pre- 
served fruits,  all  kinds  of  phials  neatly  arranged  on  shelves, 
covered  the  walls,  and  reflected  in  the  mirror  behind  the 
counter  their  various  vivid  hues,  apple  green,  pale  gold  and 
delicate  crimson.  However,  the  curiosity  of  the  establish- 
ment, a  distilling  apparatus,  which  customers  could  see  at 
work,  was  found  in  a  glass-covered  courtyard,  on  the  other 
side  of  an  oak  barrier.  Here  there  were  stills  with  long 
necks  and  worms  that  went  down  into  the  earth ;  a  regular 
devil's  kitchen,  indeed,  before  which  bibulous  workmen  would 
come  and  muse. 

At  this,  the  luncheon  hour,  the  *  Assommoir  '  was  almost 
deserted.  Old  Colombe,  a  stout  man  of  forty,  wearing  a 
waistcoat  with  sleeves,  was  serving  a  little  girl  of  ten  with 
four  sous'  worth  of  brandy  in  a  cup.  A  blaze  of  sunshine 
came  in  through  the  doorway,  warming  the  floor,  which  was 
ever  damp  with  the  saUva  of  the  smokers.  And,  from  the 
bar,  the  barrels,  the  whole  place,  there  arose  a  spirituous 
odour,  an  alcoholic  fume  which  seemed  to  thicken  and  intoxicate 
the  flying  dust  of  the  sunlight. 

Coupeau  was  making  another  cigarette.  Laughing  and 
showing  his  white  teeth  he  looked  very  clean,  in  his  short 
blue  linen  blouse  and  cap.  With  a  projecting  under  jaw  and 
a  slightly  snub  nose,  he  had  handsome  brown  eyes,  the  face, 
in  fact,  of  a  joyous,  good-natured  dog.  His  coarse  curly  hair 
stood  quite  erect,  and  his  skin  still  retained  the  softness  of 
his  six-and-twenty  years.  Gervaise  facing  him,  bareheaded, 
and  wearing  a  thin  black,  straight-cut  jacket,  was  finishing 
her  plum,  which  she  held  by  the  stalk  between  her  finger-tips 
They  were  close  to  the  street,  at  the  first  of  the  four  tablet 
placed  alongside  the  barrels  facing  the  bar. 

When  the  zinc-worker  had  lighted  his  cigarette,  he  rested 
his  elbows  on  the  table,  thrust  his  face  forward,  and  for  an 
instant  looked  in  silence  at  the  young  woman,  whose  pretty, 
fair  face  that  day  had  the  milky  transparency  of  china. 
Then,  alluding  to  a  matter  known  to  themselves  alone,  and 


30  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

already  discussed  between  them,  he  simply  aslud,  in  a  low 
voice :  '  So  it's  to  be  "  No  "  ?    You  say  "  No  "  ?  ' 

*  Oh  1  most  decidedly  '*  No,"  Monsieur  Coupeau,'  Gervaise 
quietly  replied  with  a  smile.  '  I  hope  you're  not  going  to 
talk  to  me  about  that  here.  You  know  you  promised  me  that 
you  would  be  reasonable.  Had  I  known,  I  wouldn't  have  let 
you  treat  me.' 

He  did  not  resume  speaking,  but  went  on  closely  scrutinis- 
ing her  with  a  bold,  loving  look,  which  grew  impassioned  as 
he  gazed  at  the  pink,  moist  corners  of  her  lips,  which 
revealed  the  vivid  red  of  her  mouth  whenever  she  smiled. 
She  did  not  draw  away  from  him,  but  remained  placid  and 
affectionate  ;  and,  after  a  brief  silence,  she  added  :  *  You  can't 
really  mean  it.  I'm  an  old  woman ;  I've  a  big  boy  eight 
years  old,  so  I  must  think  of  serious  things.  Amusing  one- 
self never  leads  to  anything,  you  know !  There  are  two 
mouths  at  home  which  are  never  tired  of  swallowing,  I  can  tell 
you!  And  besides,  my  misfortune  has  been  a  famous  lesson 
to  me.  You  know,  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  men  now.  They 
won't  catch  me  again  for  a  long  while.' 

She  explained  things  good-naturedly,  but  with  great 
propriety  and  coldness,  as  though  she  had  been  discussing 
some  question  connected  with  her  work,  giving,  for  instance, 
the  reasons  which  prevented  her  from  starching  a  habit-shirt. 
One  could  realise  that  she  had  thoroughly  made  up  her  mind 
after  full  reflection. 

However,  Coupeau,  deeply  moved,  repeated :  *  You  cause 
me  a  great  deal  of  pain,  a  great  deal  of  pain.' 

'  Yes,  I  see  I  do,'  she  resumed,  '  and  I  am  sorry  for  you, 
Monsieur  Coupeau.  But  you  mustn't  take  it  to  heart.  If  I 
had  thoughts  of  anything  of  the  kind — well,  I  would  rather 
choose  you  than  another.  You  look  a  good-natured  fellow, 
you're  nice.  We  might  live  together,  no  doubt,  and  get 
along  the  best  way  we  could.  I'm  not  at  all  stuck  up.  I 
don't  say  that  it  might  not  have  been.  Only,  where's  the 
use,  as  I've  no  inclination  for  it  ?  I've  been  for  the  last 
fortnight,  now,  at  Madame  Fauconnier's.  The  children  go  to 
school.  I've  got  work,  and  I'm  contented.  So  the  best  is  to 
remain  as  we  are,  isn't  it  ?  '  And  she  stooped  down  to  take 
her  basket,  adding :  '  You're  making  me  chatter  ;  they  must 
be  expecting  me  at  the  shop.  You'll  easily  find  some  one 
else  prettier  than  I,  Monsieur  Coupeau,  and  one  who  won't 
have  two  boys  to  drag  about  with  her.' 


COURTSHIP  V- 

He  looked  at  the  clock  inserted  in  the  frame-work  of  the 
mirror,  and  made  her  sit  down  again,  exclaiming  :  '  Don't  be  in 
such  a  hurry  !  It's  only  eleven  thirty-five.  I've  still  twenty-five 
minutes.  Do  you  detest  me  so  much  that  you  won't  stay  and 
have  a  little  chat  with  me  ?  ' 

She  put  her  basket  down  again,  in  order  not  to  disoblige 
him ;  and  they  conversed  like  good  friends.  She  had  had 
her  lunch  before  taking  her  washing  home  ;  and  he,  that  day, 
had  hastily  swallowed  his  soup  and  beef,  so  as  to  watch  for 
her.  While  replying  complaisantly  to  his  remarks,  Gervaise 
glanced  out  of  the  window,  between  the  glass  jars  of  preserved 
fruit,  at  the  traffic  in  the  street,  which  the  luncheon  hour 
had  filled  with  a  swarming  crowd.  On  both  of  the  narrow 
foot-pavements  skirting  the  close  pressed  houses  there  were 
hurrying  feet,  swinging  arms,  and  endless  elbowings. 
Belated  ones,  men  detained  by  their  work,  who  looked  surly 
with  hunger,  strode  briskly  across  the  road  and  entered  the 
baker's  opposite  ;  and  when  they  emerged  again,  each  with  a 
pound  of  bread  under  his  arm,  they  went  three  doors  higher 
up,  to  the  *  Two-Headed  Calf,'  there  to  partake  of  the 
ordinary  at  six  sous  a  head.  Next  door  to  the  baker's  there 
was  a  greengrocer,  who  sold  fried  potatoes  and  mussels 
sprinkled  with  parsley  ;  and  from  this  shop  a  continuous  pro- 
cession of  workwomen,  in  long  aprons,  carried  off  screws 
of  '  chips '  and  cupfuls  of  mussels ;  whilst  others,  pretty, 
delicate,  bareheaded  girls,  purchased  bunches  of  radishes. 
Moreover,  when  Gervaise  leant  forward,  she  could  catch  a 
ghmpse  of  a  crowded  pork-butcher's  shop,  whence  children  came 
forth,  carrying  on  the  palms  of  their  hands  cutlets,  sausages, 
or  pieces  of  hot  black-pudding  wrapped  in  greasy  paper.  Mean- 
while along  the  roadway,  which  was  slippery  with  black  mud, 
even  in  fine  weather,  through  the  constant  tramping  of  the 
crowd,  some  workmen,  already  leaving  the  eating-houses, 
passed  by  in  batches,  their  open  hands  swinging  against  their 
sides  as  they  strolled  on,  heavy  with  food,  quiet,  and  slow, 
amidst  all  the  jostling. 

A  group  had  formed  at  the  doorway  of  the  '  Assommoir.' 

*I  say,  Bibi-the- Smoker,  are  you  going  to  stand  a  go  of 
vitriol  ?  '  inquired  one  in  a  hoarse  voice.  Then  five  workmen 
entered  and  stood  before  the  bar.  •  Ah  !  Colombe,  you  old 
thief,'  resumed  the  previous  speaker,  *  you  must  give  us 
some  of  the  right  sort,  you  know,  and  not  in  thimbles,  but  real 
glasses  ! ' 


3-?  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Old  Colombe  quietly  served  them.  And  then  another 
party  of  three  arrived.  Little  by  little,  men  in  blouses 
collected  at  the  corner  of  the  foot  pavement,  stood  there  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  ended  by  pushing  each  other  into  the  dram- 
shop between  the  two  oleanders  grey  with  dust. 

'  You're  stupid  ! '  Gervaise  was  now  saying  to  Coupeau. 
*  Of  course  I  loved  him.     Only,  after  the  disgusting  way  in 

which  he  left  me ' 

They  were  talking  of  Lantier.  Gervaise  had  not  seen 
him  again ;  she  thought  he  was  living  with  Virginie's  sister, 
at  La  Glaci^re,  in  the  house  of  that  friend  who  was  going 
to  start  a  hat  factory.  However,  she  had  no  thought  of 
running  after  him.  At  first  his  desertion  had  caused  her 
great  anguish — she  had  even  wanted  to  drown  herself ;  but, 
now  that  she  had  thought  things  over,  she  considered  that  all 
was  for  the  best.  Had  she  continued  hving  with  Lantier, 
she  might  never  have  been  able  to  bring  up  the  little  ones, 
for  he  spent  so  ,much  money.  Of  course  he  might  come  to 
kiss  Claude  and  Etienne  if  he  were  so  minded  :  she  would 
not  refuse  him  admittance.  Only,  as  far  as  she  herself  was 
concerned,  she  would  rather  be  cut  to  pieces  than  in  any  way 
resume  the  old  existence.  And  she  said  these  things  like  a 
woman  of  firm  resolution,  having  fully  decided  on  her  future 
course  of  life ;  whilst  Coupeau,  unable  to  shake  off  his  passion, 
joked  and  gave  an  objectionable  meaning  to  everything,  ask- 
ing her  certain  questions  about  Lantier  so  gaily,  and  showing 
such  white  teeth,  that  she  did  not  think  of  taking  offence. 

*  You  used  to  beat  him,'  said  he,  at  length.  *  Oh  !  you're 
not  a  good  sort !    You  whip  people.' 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  hearty  laugh.  It  was  true, 
though,  she  had  whipped  tall  Virginie.  She  would  have 
been  glad  to  strangle  some  one  on  that  day.  And  she  laughed 
louder  than  ever  when  Coupeau  told  her  that  Virginie, 
ashamed  of  her  defeat,  had  left  the  neighbourhood.  Despite 
this  merriment,  however,  the  young  woman's  face  preserved 
an  expression  of  childish  gentleness  ;  she  held  out  her  plump 
hands,  saying  that  she  would  not  hurt  a  fly ;  all  she  knew  of 
blows  was  that  she  herself  had  received  plenty.  Then  she 
talked  of  her  childhood  at  Plassans.  She  wasn't  a  bit 
gaddish  ;  and  if  in  the  first  flush  of  youth  she  had  listened  to 
Lantier  it  was  because  he  had  imposed  on  her  with  all  his 
talk  of  being  her  husband,  and  she  had  thought  they  were 
playing  at  being  married  people.     Her  only  fault,  she  asserted 


COURTSHIP  33 

was  that  she  was  too  sensitive  and  affectionate,  and  became 
attached  to  people  who  afterwards  behaved  very  badly  to  her. 
As  for  loving  a  man,  all  she  dreamed  of  was  of  always  living 
together  and  being  very  happy.  Men  were  wrong  in  thinking 
that  women's  minds  were  always  busy  with  passion  ;  their 
first  thoughts  were  for  their  homes,  which  they  slaved  to 
keep  clean  and  tidy.  For  her  own  part  she  resembled  her 
mother,  a  stout,  hard-working  woman,  who  had  died  at  her 
post  after  serving  as  slave  to  old  Macquart  for  more  than 
twenty  years.  Of  course  she,  Gervaise,  was  still  quite  slim, 
whereas  her  mother  had  shoulders  broad  enough  to  demolish 
the  doorways  through  which  she  passed;  nevertheless  she 
resembled  her  by  her  mania  for  becoming  attached  to  people. 
And  if  she  limped  a  little,  she  no  doubt  owed  that  to  the  poor 
woman  whom  old  Macquart  had  so  often  belaboured  with 
blows.  Hundreds  of  times  had  her  mother  told  her  of  the 
old  man's  drunken  roughness. 

*  Oh  1  but  it's  scarcely  anything ;  it's  hardly  perceptible,* 
said  Coupeau  gallantly. 

She  shook  her  Lead ;  she  knew  well  enough  that  her 
lameness  could  be  seen ;  at  forty  she  would  break  in  two. 
Then  she  added  gently,  with  a  slight  laugh :  *  It's  a  funny 
fancy  of  yours  to  fall  in  love  with  a  cripple.' 

Thereupon  he,  with  his  elbows  still  on  the  table,  thrust  his 
face  closer  to  hers,  and  began  to  pour  forth  compliments  as 
though  seeking  to  intoxicate  her.  But  she  continued  to  shake 
her  head,  however  caressing  she  found  his  wheedling  praise. 
And  then,  while  still  listening  to  him,  she  once  more  gazed  out 
into  the  street,  seemingly  interested  again  by  the  increasing 
crowd.  The  shops,  now  empty,  were  being  swept ;  the  green- 
grocer was  taking  her  last  panful  of  fried  potatoes  from  the 
fire,  while  the  pork-butcher  set  the  plates  spread  over  his 
counter  in  order.  Bands  of  workmen  were  emerging  from 
all  the  eating-houses ;  big  bearded  fellows  pushed  and 
pommelled  one  another,  playing  together  like  children,  their 
heavy  hob -nailed  boots  clattering  and  scratching  the  pavement 
as  they  slided  hither  and  thither.  Others,  with  their  hands  deep 
in  their  pockets,  stood  smoking  reflectively,  gazing  at  the  sun 
and  blinking  their  eyes.  Foot-pavement,  roadway  and 
gutters  were  alike  invaded  ;  an  idle  crowd  streamed  from  the 
open  door- ways,  paused  amidst  the  vehicles,  and  formed  an 
endless  trail  of  blouses  and  old  overcoats  paling  in  the  bright 
light  which  filled  the  street.      Factory  bells  rang  in  the 

D 


34  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

distance,  yet  the  workmen  did  not  hurry,  but  stopped  to  light 
their  pipes  once  more  ;  then,  after  calling  each  other  from  the 
different  wine- shops,  they  at  last  made  up  their  minds  to  turn 
their  steps  with  dragging  gait  in  the  direction  of  the  work- 
shops. Gervaise  amused  herself  by  watching  three  fellows,  a 
tall  one  and  two  short  ones,  who  turned  to  look  back  at  every 
few  yards  they  took ;  they  ended  by  descending  the  street, 
and  came  straight  to  old  Colombe's  '  Assommoir.' 

*  Ah,  well ! '  she  murmured,  *  there're  three  fellows  who 
don't  seem  inclined  for  work  I ' 

*  Why  I  know  the  tall  one ! '  said  Coupeau  ;  *  it's  My-Boots, 
a  comrade  of  mine.' 

The  *  Assommoir '  was  now  full.  The  customers  were 
talking  loudly,  with  sudden  sharp  outbursts,  which  broke  upon 
the  husky  tones  of  those  whose  throats  were  hoarse.  Fists, 
now  and  again  banged  upon  the  bar,  caused  the  glasses  to 
jingle.  And  all  the  tipplers  stood  up,  forming  little  close- 
pressed  groups,  with  hands  crossed  over  their  stomachs  or 
clasped  behind  their  backs.  Some  parties,  over  by  the  barrels, 
had  to  wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  they  had  a  chance  of 
ordering  their  drinks  of  old  Colombe. 

'  Hallo  1  why  it's  that  aristocrat,  Young  Cassis  I '  cried 
My-Boots,  bringing  his  hand  down  roughly  on  Coupeau's 
shoulder.  *  A  fine  gentleman,  who  smokes  paper,  and  wears 
shirts  !  So  we  want  to  do  the  grand  with  our  sweetheart,  do 
we  ?  we  stand  her  little  treats ! ' 

'  Shut  up  !  don't  bother  me  1  *  repUed  Coupeau,  greatly 
annoyed. 

But  the  other  added,  with  a  chuckle,  '  Eight  you  are !  We 
know  what's  what,  my  boy.    Fools  are  fools,  that's  all ! ' 

He  turned  his  back,  after  squinting  terribly  as  he  glanced 
at  Gervaise.  The  latter  recoiled,  feeling  rather  frightened. 
The  smoke  from  the  pipes,  and  the  strong  breath  of  all  those 
men,  ascended  in  the  air,  already  foul  with  the  fumes  of  alcohol ; 
and  feeling  a  choking  sensation  in  her  throat,  she  coughed 
sHghtly.  *  Oh  !  what  a  horrible  thing  is  drink  ! '  she  said  in 
a  low  voice.  And  she  related  that,  formerly,  at  Plassans,  she 
herself  had  been  wont  to  drink  aniseed  with  her  mother.  But 
on  one  occasion  it  had  nearly  killed  her,  and  that  had  disgusted 
her  with  it ;  now  she  could  never  touch  any  liqueurs.  '  You 
see,'  she  added,  pointing  to  her  glass,  *  I've  eaten  mv  plum 
only  ;  I  shall  leave  the  juice  because  it  would  do  me  harm  ' 

Coupeau,  on  his  side,  could  not  understand  how  people 


COURTSHIP  35 

could  swallow  glassfuls  of  brandy.  A  plum  now  and  again 
wasn't  so  bad.  But  as  for  *  vitriol,'  absintbe,  and  all  such 
filthy  things,  good  night !  he  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  However  much  his  comrades  might  chaff,  he 
stood  outside  when  those  swiggers  entered  the  boozing-ken. 
His  father,  who  had  been  a  zinc- worker  Uke  himself,  had 
cracked  his  head  on  the  pavement  of  the  Rue  Coquenard 
through  falling  from  the  roof  of  No.  25,  one  day  when  he  was 
half-seas  over,  and  the  constant  recollection  of  that  tragedy 
caused  all  the  family  to  keep  very  steady.  Whenever  he, 
Coupeau,  passed  along  the  Rue  Coquenard,  and  saw  the 
place,  he  would  sooner  have  swallowed  the  water  of  the 
gutter  than  have  drunk  a  tumbler  of  wine  at  the  wine-shop, 
even  though  it  were  given  to  him.  And  he  concluded  with  these 
words  :  '  In  my  calling,  one  needs  to  be  steady  on  one's  legs.* 

Gervaise  had  taken  up  her  basket  again ;  still  she  did 
not  rise,  but  held  it  on  her  knees,  with  a  vacant  look  in  her 
eyes,  dreaming,  as  though  the  young  workman's  words  had 
awakened  within  her  some  far-off  thoughts  of  Ufe.  And 
without  transition,  as  it  were,  she  again  spoke  very  slowly : 

*  Well !  I'm  not  ambitious ;  I  don't  ask  for  much.  My 
desire  would  be  to  work  in  peace,  always  to  have  bread  to  eat, 
and  a  decent  place  to  sleep  in,  you  know  ;  just  a  bed,  a  table, 
and  two  chairs,  nothing  more — Ah  I  and  I  should  also  like  to 
be  able  to  bring  up  my  children,  to  make  good  men  of  them, 
if  possible — and  I've  still  another  wish,  which  is,  not  to  be 
beaten  if  ever  I  live  with  any  one  again  ;  no  I  should  not  like 
to  be  beaten — and  that's  all,  you  see,  that's  all.'  She  sat 
thinking,  questioning  her  desires,  seemingly  unable  to  find 
anything  else  of  consequence  which  tempted  her.  However, 
after  hesitating  awhile,  she  resumed  :  'Yes,  when  one  ^f^aches 
the  end,  one  might  wish  to  die  in  one's  bed.  For  myself,  ifter 
having  trudged  about  all  my  life,  I  should  really  like  to  die 
in  my  bed — in  my  own  home.* 

Then  she  rose  from  her  seat.  Coupeau,  who  cordially 
approved  her  wishes,  was  already  standing,  anxious  about 
the  time.  But  they  did  not  leave  at  once  ;  she  had  the 
curiosity  to  pass  behind  the  oak  barrier  to  look  at  the  big 
copper  still,  which  worked  beneath  the  glass  roof  in  the  court- 
yard ;  and  the  zinc-worker,  who  followed  her,  explained  how 
it  operated,  pointing  out  the  different  parts  of  the  apparatus, 
especially  the  huge  retort,  whence  fell  a  limpid  stream  of 
alcohol.     The  still,  with  its  strangely-shaped  receivers,  and 

d2 


36  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

endless  coils  of  pipes,  had  a  sombre  look ;  no  smoke  or  steam 
escaped  from  it ;  one  could  barely  hear  a  kind  of  internal 
breathing,  hke  some  underground  rumbling  ;  it  was  like  mid- 
night labour  performed  in  the  light  of  day  by  a  mighty,  dumb, 
and  gloomy  workman. 

Meantime  My-Boots,  accompanied  by  his  two  comrades, 
had  approached  to  lean  over  the  barrier,  whilst  waiting  for 
a  corner  of  the  bar  to  become  vacant.  He  had  a  laugh  resem- 
bling the  noise  of  a  pulley  that  wants  greasing,  as  he 
wagged  his  head  and  looked  tenderly  at  the  fuddUng  machine. 
Thunder !  it  was  a  pretty  invention  1  There  was  enough  in 
that  big  copper  paunch  to  keep  one's  throat  moist  for  a 
whole  week.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  had  the  end  of 
the  pipe  soldered  to  his  teeth,  so  as  to  feel  the  '  vitriol  *  fill 
his  body,  descend  downwards  to  his  heels,  for  ever  and  ever, 
like  a  httle  waterfall.  He  would  never  have  troubled  himself 
about  anything  then  ;  it  would  have  been  a  great  deal  better 
than  having  to  put  up  with  the  thimblefuls  of  that  old  cheat 
Colombe  !  At  this  the  others  chuckled,  saying  that  My- 
Boots,  the  animal,  had  a  very  fine  bee  in  his  bonnet.  And 
meantime  the  still,  slowly,  without  a  flame,  without  a  touch 
of  brightness  on  its  dull  copper  envelope,  continued  working, 
letting  its  alcoholic  sweat  trickle  forth  like  some  sluggish  yet 
stubborn  stream,  which  in  course  of  time  would  overrun  the 
whole  dram-shop,  spread  along  the  outer  Boulevards,  and  in- 
undate even  the  immense  gulf  of  Paris.  Gervaise  shivered,  and 
moved  away ;  yet  she  tried  to  smile,  as  she  murmured :  *  It's 
stupid ;  but  to  look  at  that  machine  makes  me  shiver ;  the 
thought  of  drink  makes  my  blood  run  cold.'  Then,  returning 
to  the  idea  she  nursed  of  perfect  happiness,  she  resumed : 
*  Now,  ain't  I  right  ?  it's  much  the  nicest,  isn't  it — to  work 
hard,  have  bread  to  eat,  a  home  of  one's  own,  and  bring  up 
one's  children,  and  die  in  one's  bed  ? ' 

*  And  never  be  beaten,'  added  Coupeau,  gaily.  *  But  I 
would  never  beat  you,  if  you  would  only  try  me,  Madame  Ger- 
vaise. You've  no  cause  for  fear.  I  don't  drink,  and  besides, 
I  love  you  too  much.' 

He  had  lowered  his  voice,  and  was  whispering  in  her 
ear,  whilst  she,  holding  her  basket  before  her,  made  a  way  for 
herself  betwixt  the  men.  But  she  still  shook  her  head,  several 
times  in  succession.  Yet  she  looked  round  and  smiled  at  him, 
and  seemed  pleased  to  know  that  he  did  not  drink.  She  would 
certainly  have  answered  yes,  had  she  not  sworn  never  to 


COURTSHIP  37 

renew  the  experiment  which  she  had  made  with  Lantier.  At 
length  they  reached  the  door  and  passed  out.  Behind  them, 
the  '  Assommoir '  still  remained  full,  wafting  into  the  very 
street  the  hoarse  voices  of  its  customers  and  the  spirituous 
odour  of  its  '  goes '  of  *  vitriol.'  My-Boots  could  be  heard 
calling  old  Colombe  a  bilk,  and  accusing  him  of  having  only 
half  filled  his  glass.  He  himself  was  a  jolly  dog,  one  of  the 
right  sort,  a  fellow  who  was  all  on.  And  dash  it  all,  the 
guv'ner  might  go  to  blazes ;  he  wasn't  going  back  to  the 
show  that  day,  he  was  sick  of  work.  So  he  proposed  to  his 
two  comrades  that  they  should  sheer  off  to  the  *  Little  Old 
Man  with  a  Cough,'  a  boozing-kon  of  the  Barriere  Saint- 
Denis,  where  one  could  get  the  right  strong  stuff,  pure. 

*  Ah  1  one  can  breathe  here,'  said  Gervaise,  as  she  reached 
the  pavement  outside.  *  Well  1  good-bye,  and  thank  you. 
Monsieur  Coupeau.    I  must  hurry  back.' 

She  was  about  to  proceed  along  the  Boulevard.  But  he 
had  taken  her  hand,  and  retained  it,  as  he  said :  *  Go  round 
with  me  by  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  it  won't  be  much 
farther  for  you.  I've  got  to  call  on  my  sister  before  return- 
ing to  work.     We  can  keep  each  other  company.' 

She  ended  by  agreeing,  and  they  slowly  ascended  the  Rue 
des  Poissonniers  side  by  side,  but  without  taking  each  other's 
arm.  He  talked  of  his  relations.  His  mother,  old  Madame 
Coupeau  had  formerly  made  waistcoats,  but  her  eyes  were 
faihng  her,  so  now  she  went  out  charing.  She  had  reached 
her  sixty-second  birthday  on  the  third  of  the  previous  month. 
He  was  the  youngest  of  her  children.  One  of  his  sisters, 
Madame  Lerat,  a  widow  of  thirty- six,  worked  at  artificial 
flower-making,  and  lived  in  the  Rue  des  Moines,  at  Batig- 
nolles.  The  other,  who  was  thirty,  had  married  a  gold  chain 
maker,  that  sly  malicious  beggar,  Lorilleux.  It  was  on  her 
that  he  was  going  to  call,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or, 
where  she  lived  in  the  big  house  on  the  left.  Every 
evening  he  dined  with  the  Lorilleux ;  it  was  a  saving  for 
all  three  of  them.  But  he  was  going  to  tell  them  not 
to  expect  him  that  day,  as  he  had  been  invited  by  a  friend. 

Gervaise,  who  was  listening  to  him,  suddenly  interrupted 
him  to  ask,  with  a  smile  :  *  So  you're  called  *'  Young  Cassis," 
Monsieur  Coupeau,  are  you  not  ?  ' 

'  Oh  1 '  he  replied,  *  it's  a  nickname  my  mates  have  given 
me,  because  I  generally  drink  **  cassis  "  ^  when  they  force  me 
*  Blaok-oui-rant  syrup. 


38  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

to  accompany  them  to  the  wine-shop.  But  it's  no  worse  to 
be  called  Young  Cassis  than  My-Boots,  is  it  ? ' 

'Of  course  not.  Young  Cassis  isn't  an  ugly  name,* 
observed  the  young  woman. 

Then  she  questioned  him  about  his  work.  He  was  still 
engaged  yonder,  at  the  new  hospital  behind  the  octroi  wall. 
Oh  !  there  was  no  lack  of  work,  he  would  not  have  finished 
there  for  a  year  at  the  least.  There  were  yards  and  yards  of 
guttering  to  be  fixed.  '  You  know,'  he  added,  *  I  can  see  the 
Hotel  Bonca3ur  when  I'm  up  there.  Yesterday,  you  were  at 
the  window,  and  I  waved  my  arms,  but  you  didn't  notice  me.' 

Then,  when  they  had  already  gone  about  a  hundred  paces 
along  the  Rue  de  laGoutte-d'Or,  he  stopped  short,  and  raising 
his  eyes,  exclaimed  :  *  That's  the  house.  I  was  born  farther 
on,  at  No.  22.  But  all  the  same,  this  house  is  a  fine  block  of 
masonry !    It's  as  big  as  a  barrack  inside  !  ' 

Gervaise  raised  her  head  and  examined  the  frontage.  The 
house  had  five  upper  storeys  facing  the  street,  each  with  a  row 
of  fiftcea  windows,  whose  shutters,  grimy  and  more  or  less 
broken,  imparted  a  ruinous  aspect  to  the  immense  mass  of 
wall.  Down  below,  on  the  ground  floor,  were  four  shops ;  to 
the  right  of  the  door  a  huge  and  greasy  eating-place  ;  to 
the  left  a  charcoal  dealer's,  a  linen-draper's,  and  an  umbrella 
shop.  And  the  house  appeared  all  the  more  colossal  from 
the  circumstance  that  it  stood  between  two  small,  low, 
insignificant  buildings,  which  seemed  to  cling  to  it.  Square 
in  shape,  and  similar  to  a  block  of  coarsely  prepared  mor- 
tar, rotting  and  crumbling  beneath  the  rain,  it  set  against 
the  clear  sky,  above  the  neighbouring  roofs,  the  profile  of 
its  huge  cube-like  form,  whose  rough,  unplastered  mud- 
coloured  sides  had  the  interminable  bareness  of  prison  walls  ; 
while  the  rows  of  toothing  stones  at  either  end  formed,  as 
it  were,  a  series  of  decayed  jaws  gaping  into  space.  But 
Gervaise  particularly  examined  the  doorway — an  immense 
arched  doorway — which  rose  as  high  as  the  second  storey, 
forming  a  deep  porch,  at  the  other  end  of  which  one  could 
discern  the  light  of  a  large  courtyard.  In  the  centre  of 
this  porch,  which  was  paved  like  the  street,  was  a  gutter, 
along  which  flowed  some  pale  pink  water. 

*  Come  in,'  said  Coupeau,  '  no  one  will  eat  you.* 

Gervaise  wanted  to  wait  for  him  in  the  street.  However, 
she  could  not  resist  entering  the  porch  as  far  as  the  door- 
keeper's room  on  the  right.    And  there,  on  the  threshold,  she 


COURTSHIP  39 

again  raised  her  eyes.  The  inner  faQades — four  regular  fa9ades 
enclosing  the  vast  square  of  the  courtyard — had  six  storeys 
apiece.  The  grey  walls,  partly  corroded  by  a  kind  of  yellow 
leprosy,  and  streaked  by  drippings  from  the  roof,  were  perfectly 
flat  with  never  a  strip  of  moulding  from  the  pavement  to  the 
slates ;  the  only  projections  were  the  water-pipes,  which  curved 
a  little  at  each  floor,  where  the  open  drain-sinks  were  seen, 
covered  with  rust.  The  shutterless  windows  displayed  bare 
panes,  of  the  greenish  hue  of  cloudy  water.  From  certain 
casements,  mattresses  covered  with  blue  check  ticking  were 
hanging  out  to  air  ;  on  lines,  in  front  of  others,  clothes  were 
drying,  all  the  washing  of  a  family — the  man's  shirts,  the 
wife's  loose  linen  jackets,  and  the  children's  pants  ;  at  one 
window  on  the  third  floor  some  dirty  napkins  were  exhibited. 
And  from  top  to  bottom,  the  lodgings,  all  too  small  for  their 
occupants,  seemed  to  be  bursting  into  the  yard,  sending  forth 
scraps  of  their  misery  by  every  aperture. 

Down  below,  each  frontage  had  its  tall  narrow  doorway, 
destitute  of  woodwork,  being  merely  a  slit  in  the  wall  afford- 
ing admittance  to  a  passage  with  sides  full  of  crevices,  past 
which  ascended  the  winding  steps  of  a  muddy  staircase,  with 
an  iron  hand-rail.  There  were  altogether  four  of  these  stair- 
cases, distinguished  one  from  another  by  the  first  four  letters 
of  the  alphabet  painted  on  the  wall.  The  ground  floors  were 
fitted  up  as  huge  workshops,  with  glass  frontages,  grimy  with 
dust ;  in  one  a  locksmith's  forge  was  blazing ;  in  another, 
the  sounds  of  a  carpenter's  plane  could  be  heard ;  whilst 
near  the  entrance,  a  dyer's  laboratory  discharged  with  much 
seething  and  bubbling  that  pale  pink  stream  which  flowed 
along  the  gutter  beneath  the  porch.  The  courtyard  was 
dirtied  by  other  pools  of  dyed  water  and  littered  with  shavings 
and  cinders,  while  tufts  of  grass  grew  round  its  edges  in  the 
crevices  between  tlie  paving  stones.  A  crude  light  fell  there, 
the  expanse  looking  as  if  cut  atwain  at  the  point  where  the 
sunshine  and  the  shadow  met.  On  the  shady  side,  around 
the  water  tap,  which  always  caused  a  certain  dampness  there, 
three  little  hens  with  muddy  claws  were  pecking  the  ground 
and  seeking  worms.  And  Gervaise  slowly  gazed  about  her, 
lowering  her  glance  from  the  sixth  floor  to  the  paving  stones, 
then  raising  it  again,  surprised  at  the  vastness  of  the  pile, 
feeling,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of  some  living  organ — the 
very  heart  of  a  city — and  as  interested  in  the  house  as  if  it  had 
been  a  giant. 


40  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

'  Is  madame  seeking  anyone  ? '  called  the  puzzled  door- 
keeper, emerging  from  her  room. 

The  young  woman  explained  that  she  was  merely  waiting 
for  a  friend,  and  then  went  back  to  the  street ;  however,  as 
Coupeau  did  not  come,  she  again  returned  to  the  courtyard, 
seized  with  a  desire  to  take  another  look.  She  did  not  think 
the  house  ugly.  Amongst  the  rags  hanging  from  the  windows 
smiled  various  cheerful  touches — a  wall-flower  blooming  in  a 
pot,  a  cage  of  canaries,  whence  a  sound  of  chirruping  de- 
scended, some  shaving-glasses  shining  like  stars  in  the  depth 
of  the  shadow.  Down  below,  a  carpenter  was  singing,  ac- 
companied by  the  regular  hiss  of  his  jointing-plane ;  whilst, 
in  the  locksmith's  workshop,  a  number  of  hammers  beating  in 
time  sounded  like  a  loud  silvery  peal  of  bells.  Moreover,  at 
almost  all  the  open  windows,  against  the  faintly  seen  back- 
ground of  wretchedness,  children  showed  their  smeared  and 
smiling  faces,  and  women  sewed,  with  placid  profiles  bent  over 
their  work.  It  was  the  resumption  of  toil  after  the  mid-day 
meal,  the  rooms  free  of  the  men  who  worked  away  from 
home,  the  house  relapsing  into  great  peacefulness,  on  which 
only  broke  the  noise  of  the  workmen's  tools,  the  lullaby  as  it- 
were  of  a  refrain,  ever  the  same,  repeated  for  hours  together. 
The  only  thing  which  did  not  please  Gervaise  was  that  the  yard 
seemed  rather  damp.  If  she  had  lived  there  she  would  have 
liked  a  lodging  at  the  farther  end,  on  the  sunny  side.  She 
had  advanced  some  five  or  six  steps,  and  was  inhaling  that 
musty  odour  pertaining  to  the  lodgings  of  the  poor — a  smell 
of  old  dust,  of  rancid  dirt ;  however,  as  the  acrid  effluvia  of 
the  dyed  water  predominated,  she  thought  that  the  place 
smelt  far  less  objectionably  than  the  Hotel  Boncoeur.  And 
she  already  chose  her  window — a  window  up  in  the  left-hand 
corner,  where  there  was  a  box  fuU  of  scarlet  runners,  whose 
slender  stems  had  begun  to  twine  around  a  little  bower  of 
string. 

'  I've  kept  you  waiting  rather  long,  eh  ?  '  said  Coupeau, 
whom  she  suddenly  heard  close  beside  her.  '  There's  always 
an  awful  fuss  whenever  I  don't  dine  with  them,  and  it  was 
fvorse  than  ever  to-day,  as  my  sister  had  bought  some  veal.' 
Then,  noticing  that  Gervaise  had  started  slightly  with  surprise, 
he  continued,  glancing  round  in  his  turn  :  '  You  were  looking 
at  the  house.  It's  always  all  let  from  top  to  bottom.  There  are 
three  hundred  tenants,  I  think.    If  I  had  had  any  furniture, 


COURTSHIP  41 

I  would  have  tried  to  secure  a  small  room.  One  would  be 
comfortable  here,  don't  you  think  so  ?  ' 

'Yes,  one  would  be  comfortable,'  murmured  Gervaise. 
•In  our  street,  at  Plassans,  there  weren't  nearly  so  many 
people.  Look,  that's  pretty — that  window  up  on  the  fifth 
floor,  with  the  scarlet  runners.' 

Then  he  pertinaciously  renewed  his  proposals ;  but  she 
hastened  away  under  the  porch,  begging  him  not  to  begin  his 
nonsense  again.  However,  when  Coupeau  left  her  at  Madame 
Fauconnier's  door,  he  was  for  a  moment  able  to  press  her 
hand,  which  she  surrendered  to  him  in  all  friendliness. 

For  a  month  the  young  woman  and  the  zinc-worker 
continued  the  best  of  friends.  He  admired  her  courage,  when 
he  saw  her  half  killing  herself  with  work,  keeping  her  children 
clean  and  tidy,  and  yet  finding  time  at  night  bo  do  all  sorts  of 
sewing.  There  were  women  who  were  far  from  clean,  who 
gadded  about,  and  were  ever  bent  on  self-indulgence ;  but, 
hang  it  all !  she  in  nowise  resembled  them  ;  she  took  too 
serious  a  view  of  life  1  When  she  heard  him  say  this  she 
would  laugh,  and  modestly  defend  herself.  Unfortunately 
she  had  not  always  been  so  good.  And  she  alluded  to  the 
circumstance  that  she  had  become  a  mother  when  only  four- 
teen, and  to  the  quarts  of  aniseed  which  she  had  helped  her 
own  mother  to  drain  in  past  times.  Experience  was  correcting 
her  a  little — that  was  all.  It  was  a  mistake  to  think  that  she 
bad  a  strong  will.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  very  weak ;  she 
let  herself  go  whither  she  was  pushed,  for  fear  of  causing 
pain  to  any  one.  Her  dream  was  to  live  among  respectable 
people,  because  bad  company,  said  she,  was  like  a  blow  from 
a  bludgeon,*  it  cracked  one's  skull,  and  laid  one  on  one's  back 
in  no  time.  She  fell  into  a  cold  sweat  at  the  thought  of  the 
future,  and  compared  herself  to  a  coin  tossed  up  in  the  air 
and  coming  down  either  head  or  tail,  just  as  chance  might 
will  it.  However,  all  that  she  had  already  seen,  all  the  bad 
examples  spread  before  her  in  childhood,  had  proved  a  sharp 
lesson.  But  Coupeau  chaffed  her  about  her  gloomy  thoughts, 
and  brought  back  all  her  courage  by  his  rough  horse-play. 
At  this  she  would  push  him  from  her,  and  slap  his  hands, 
whilst  he  laughed  and  called  out  that,  for  a  weak  woman, 
she  was  really  not  an  easy  capture.  He,  who  always  joked 
about  everything,  did  not  trouble  regarding  the  future.    One 

^  An  A&%ommow. 


42  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

day  broTight  another,  of  course  !  One  would  always  manage 
to  have  a  nest  and  a  bite.  The  neighbourhood  seemed  to 
him  a  decent  one,  excepting  it  were  for  some  of  the  drunk- 
ards, of  whom  the  gutters  might  well  have  been  cleared.  For 
his  own  part  he  was  not  a  bad  sort ;  he  sometimes  said  very 
sensible  things,  was  even  a  trifle  coquettish,  parted  his  hair 
carefully  on  one  side,  wore  pretty  neckties  and  a  pair  of  patent 
leather  shoes  on  Sundays.  Withal,  he  was  as  sharp  and 
as  impudent  as  a  monkey,  full  of  the  mocking  fun  and  ready 
pertness  of  speech  of  the  Parisian  workman,  which  had  its 
charm  coming  from  so  young  a  fellow  as  himself. 

He  and  Gervaise  had  ended  by  rendering  each  other  all 
sorts  of  services  at  the  Hotel  Boncoeur.  He  fetched  her  milk, 
ran  her  errands,  carried  her  bundles  of  clothes  ;  and  of  an 
evening,  as  he  was  the  first  to  get  home  from  work,  he  often 
took  the  children  for  a  walk  on  the  outer  Boulevard. 
Gervaise,  in  return  for  his  polite  attentions,  would  climb  to 
the  narrow  garret  where  he  slept,  and  see  to  his  clothes, 
sewing  buttons  on  his  blue  overalls,  and  mending  his  linen 
jackets.  Great  famiharity  grew  up  between  them.  Amused 
with  the  songs  he  sang,  the  continual  larking  of  the  Paris 
faubourgs,  which  he  ever  brought  with  him  and  which  was 
all  new  to  her,  she  never  felt  dull  when  he  was  there.  And 
he,  as  a  result  of  their  constant  intercourse,  grew  more  and 
more  impassioned.  He  was  caught,  and  firmly,  too!  It 
ended  by  bothering  him.  He  still  laughed ;  but  in  reality 
was  so  upset  and  oppressed,  that  it  no  longer  seemed  funny  to 
him.  Still  he  continued  teasing  her  as  in  the  past,  and  she 
tolerated  his  free  speech,  objecting  as  she  did  only  to  rough- 
ness. She  got  angry  but  on  one  occasion  when,  wishing  to 
snatch  a  kiss  from  her,  he  accidentally  pulled  out  some  of  her 
hair. 

Towards  the  end  of  June,  however,  Coupeau  lost  his 
liveliness  and  became  most  peculiar.  Gervaise  felt  quite 
uneasy  at  some  of  his  glances.  Then,  after  sulking  for  two 
days,  he  suddenly  came  one  Tuesday  night  at  about  eleven 
o'clock  and  knocked  at  her  door.  At  first  she  would  not  open 
to  him  ;  but  his  voice  was  so  gentle  and  tremulous  that  she 
ended  by  removing  the  chest  of  drawers  which  she  had 
pushed  against  the  door.  When  he  entered  she  thought  that 
he  was  ill :  he  looked  so  pale,  his  eyes  were  so  red,  and  the 
veins  on  his  face  were  all  swollen.  He  stood  there,  stuttering 
and  shaking  his  head,  however.    No,  no,  he  was  not  ill.    He 


COURTSHIP  43 

had  simply  been  crying  for  two  hours,  upstairs  in  his  room 
where  he  wept  hke  a  child,  biting  his  pillow  so  as  not  to  be 
heard  by  the  neighbours.  For  three  nights  past  he  had  been 
unable  to  sleep.     Things  could  not  go  on  like  that. 

'  Listen,  Madame  Gervaise,'  he  said,  with  a  swelling  in 
his  throat,  and  again  on  the  point  of  shedding  tears,  '  we 
must  end  this,  mustn't  we  ?  We'll  go  and  get  married.  I'm 
willing.     I've  quite  made  up  my  mind.' 

Gervaise  showed  great  surprise.  She  was  very  grave. 
*  Oh  !  Monsieur  Coupeau,'  she  murmured,  *  whatever  are 
you  thinking  of  ?  You  know  I've  never  asked  you  for  that. 
What  you  said  to  me  didn't  suit  me — that  was  all.  Oh, 
no,  no  I  it's  serious  now ;  think  of  what  you're  saying,  I  beg 
of  you.' 

But  he  continued  to  shake  his  head,  with  an  air  of  un- 
alterable resolution.  He  had  already  thought  it  all  over  and 
had  come  down  because  he  wanted  to  have  a  good  night. 
She  wasn't  going  to  send  him  back  to  weep  again,  he  sup- 
posed ?  As  soon  as  she  should  say  *  Yes,'  he  would  cease 
bothering  her,  and  she  might  go  quietly  to  bed.  He  only 
wanted  to  hear  her  say  *  Yes.'  They  could  talk  it  over  on  the 
morrow. 

*  But  I  certainly  can't  say  "  Yes "  like  that,*  resumed 
Gervaise.  *  I  don't  want  you  to  accuse  me  later  on  of  having 
incited  you  to  do  something  foolish.  You  see,  Monsieur 
Coupeau,  it's  wrong  of  you  to  be  so  obstinate.  You  don't 
know  yourself  what  your  real  feeUngs  are  for  me.  If  you 
didn't  see  me  for  a  week,  you'd  get  all  right  again,  I'm  sure. 
Men  often  marry,  thinking  only  of  the  present ;  but  the  days 
follow  on  for  the  rest  of  their  lives,  and  they  get  awfully 
worried.  But  sit  down  there  ;  I'm  willing  to  talk  it  over  at 
once.' 

Then,  until  one  in  the  morning,  in  the  dim  room,  by  the 
faint  hght  of  a  smoky  tallow  candle  which  they  forgot  to 
snuff,  they  talked  of  their  marriage,  lowering  their  voices  so 
as  not  to  wake  the  two  children,  Claude  and  IBtienne,  who 
slept,  breathing  gently,  with  their  heads  side  by  side  on  the 
same  pillow.  And  Gervaise  kept  on  alluding  to  them,  point- 
ing them  out  to  Coupeau.  It  was  a  funny  dowry  for  her 
to  bring  him  ;  she  really  could  not  encumber  him  with  two 
youngsters.  Then,  too,  she  was  seized  with  shame  for  him. 
What  would  people  say  in  the  neighbourhood  ?  They  had 
known  her  with  her  lover ;  they  knew  her  story.    It  wouldn't 


44  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

seem  decent  if  he  and  she  should  get  married  but  two  months 
after  the  old  affair.  Coupeau  answered  all  this  good  reason- 
ing by  shrugging  his  shoulders.  He  did  not  care  what  the 
people  of  the  neighbourhood  thought.  He  did  not  poke  his 
nose  into  other  people's  business;  to  begin  with,  he  would 
have  been  too  much  afraid  of  dirtying  it  1  Well,  yes ;  she 
had  lived  with  Lantier,  no  doubt.  But  what  of  that  ?  She 
had  been  faithful  to  him ;  she  hadn't  run  away  from  him, 
but  he  from  her;  and  she  didn't  carry  on  with  other  men, 
like  so  many  married  women,  the  richest  and  highest,  did. 
As  for  the  children,  they  would  grow  up,  and  meantime  he  and 
she  would  take  care  of  them,  of  course.  He  would  never 
find  another  woman  so  courageous  and  kind,  so  full  of  good 
qualities.  Besides,  all  that  was  nothing;  she  might  have 
been  ugly  and  idle,  and  have  had  a  troop  of  dirty  kids — it 
would  have  made  no  difference.     He  wanted  her. 

*  Yes,  that's  it,*  he  repeated,  bringing  his  hand  down  on 
his  knee  with  a  continuous  pommelling.  *  You  understand. 
There's  nothing  to  be  said  to  that,  is  there  ? ' 

Little  by  little,  Gervaise  softened.  A  cowardliness  of  the 
heart  and  senses  came  upon  her,  amidst  the  passionate 
desire  by  which  she  felt  herself  enveloped.  She  now  only 
ventured  on  the  most  timid  objections,  her  hands  lying  idly 
in  her  lap,  and  an  expression  of  gentle  tenderness  suffusing 
her  face.  From  outside,  through  the  open  window,  the 
beautiful  June  night  wafted  in  a  warm  breeze,  which  brusquely 
stirred  the  flame  of  the  candle,  whose  long  red  wick  was 
getting  charred.  In  the  silence  pervading  the  sleeping  district 
one  only  heard  the  child-like  sobbing  of  a  drunkard  who  was 
lying  flat  on  his  back  in  the  middle  of  the  Boulevard  ;  whilst, 
far  away,  from  inside  some  restaurant  where  a  fiddle  was 
playing  a  vulgar  quadrille  to  some  belated  wedding  party, 
came  a  strain  of  crystalline  music,  clear  and  sharp  like  that 
of  a  harmonica.  Coupeau,  seeing  that  the  young  woman 
had  exhausted  her  arguments  and  remained  silent,  smiling 
vaguely,  caught  hold  of  her  hands  and  drew  her  towards  him. 
She  was  in  one  of  those  moments  which  she  so  much  dreaded, 
feeling  conquered,  too  deeply  moved  to  repulse  or  distress 
anyone.  But  the  zinc-worker  did  not  understand.  He  con- 
tented himself  with  roughly  grasping  her  wrists ;  and  they 
both  sighed  at  this  slight  pain,  which  seemed,  as  it  were, 
some  satisfaction  to  their  love. 

'  You'll  say  '*  Yes,"  won't  you  ?  '  he  asked. 


COURTSHIP  45 

*  How  you  worry  me  ! '  she  murmured.  *  You  wish  it  ? 
Well,  then,  "  Yes."  Ah  I  we're  perhaps  doing  a  very  fooHsh 
thing.' 

But  he  had  already  jumped  up,  and,  clasping  her  round 
the  waist,  he  kissed  her  roughly  on  the  face,  at  random. 
Then,  at  the  noise  caused  by  this  caress,  he  ^became  anxious, 
and  went  on  tip-toes  to  look  at  Claude  and  Etienne.  '  Hush  1 
we  must  be  good,*  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  *  we  mustn't  wake 
the  youngsters.     Good-bye  till  to-morrow.' 

And  forthwith  he  went  back  to  his  room.  Gervaise,  all  of 
a  tremble,  remained  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  for  nearly 
an  hour  without  thinking  of  undressing  herself.  She  was 
touched ;  she  considered  Coupeau  very  honourable ;  for  at 
one  moment  she  had  really  thought  it  all  over.  The  drunk- 
ard below,  under  the  window,  was  now  venting  a  hoarser 
plaint,  like  that  of  some  lost  animal.  But,  far  away,  silence 
had  fallen  upon  the  viohn  and  its  vulgar  refrain. 

On  the  following  days  Coupeau  tried  to  prevail  on  Ger- 
vaise to  call  some  evening  on  his  sister  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Goutte-d'Or ;  but  the  young  woman,  who  was  very  timid, 
evinced  great  dread  of  this  visit  to  the  Lorilleux.  She  per- 
fectly well  realised  that  the  zinc-worker  was  covertly  afraid 
of  them,  though,  of  course,  he  was  in  nowise  dependent  on 
his  sister,  who  was  not  even  the  eldest  of  the  family.  Mother 
Coupeau  would  freely  give  her  consent,  for  she  never  thwarted 
her  son.  However,  the  Lorilleux  had  the  reputation  of 
earning  as  much  as  ten  francs  a  day ;  and  from  this  circum- 
stance they  derived  a  positive  authority.  Coupeau  would  not 
have  dared  to  marry  without  being  sure  before  aught  else 
that  they  accepted  his  wife. 

*  I  have  spoken  to  them  of  you,  they  know  our  plans,'  he 
explained  to  Gervaise.  *  Come  now  1  what  a  child  you  are  I 
Let's  call  on  them  this  evening.  I've  warned  you,  haven't 
I  ?  You'll  find  my  sister  rather  stiff.  Lorilleux,  too,  isn't 
always  very  amiable.  In  reality,  they  are  greatly  annoyed, 
because,  if  I  marry,  I  shall  no  longer  take  my  meals  with 
them,  and  that  will  mean  a  saving  the  less  for  them.  But 
never  mind,  they  won't  turn  you  out.  Do  it  for  me,  it's 
absolutely  necessary.' 

These  words  only  frightened  Gervaise  the  more.  One 
Saturday  evening,  however,  she  gave  in,  and  Coupeau  came 
to  fetch  her  at  half -past  eight.  She  had  dressed  herself  in  a 
black  gown,  a  shawl  of  iixouu^lvM-dQ-laitie  with  a  pattern  of 


46  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

yellow  palms,  and  a  white  cap  trimmed  with  a  little  cheap 
lace.  During  the  six  weeks  she  had  been  working  she  had 
saved  up  the  seven  francs  which  the  shawl,  and  the  two  and 
a  half  francs  which  the  cap,  had  cost  her ;  the  dress  was  an 
old  one  cleaned  and  made  up  afresh. 

'  They're  expectmg  you,'  said  Coupeau  to  her,  as  they 
went  round  by  the  Rue  des  Poissonniers.  *  Oh !  they're 
beginning  to  get  used  to  the  idea  of  seeing  me  married. 
They  seem  very  nice  indeed,  to-night.  And,  you  know,  if 
you've  never  seen  gold  chains  made,  it'll  amuse  you  to  watch 
them.  They  just  happen  to  have  a  pressing  order  for 
Monday.' 

*  They've  got  gold  in  their  rooms  ?  '  asked  Gervaise. 

'  I  should  think  so ;  there's  some  on  the  walls,  there's 
some  on  the  floor — in  fact,  there's  some  everywhere.' 

They  had  passed  through  the  arched  doorway  and  crossed 
the  courtyard.  The  Lorilleux  lived  on  the  sixth  floor, 
staircase  B.  Coupeau  laughingly  told  Gervaise  to  hold  the 
hand-rail  tight  and  not  to  leave  go  of  it.  She  looked  up,  and 
blinked  on  perceiving  the  lofty  well  of  the  staircase,  which 
was  lighted  by  three  gas-jets,  one  on  every  second  landing  ; 
the  last  one,  right  atop,  looking  like  a  star  twinkling  in  a 
black  sky,  whilst  the  other  two  cast  long  beams  of  light, 
of  fantastic  shapes,  among  the  interminable  windings  of  the 
stairs. 

'  Hallo ! '  said  the  zinc-worker,  as  he  reached  the  first 
floor  landing,  *  there's  a  strong  smell  of  onion  soup.  Some 
one's  been  having  onion  soup,  I'm  sure.' 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  grey,  dirty  B  staircase,  with  its 
greasy  hand-rail  and  stairs,  and  scratched  walls  showing  the 
rough  mortar,  was  still  full  of  a  powerful  odour  of  cooking. 
On  each  landing  passages  branched  off  sonorous  with  noise, 
and  yellow  painted  doors,  blackened  near  the  locks  by  dirty 
hands,  stood  open ;  while,  on  a  level  with  the  staircase 
window,  a  musty  stench  came  from  the  drain-sink  mingling 
with  the  pungency  of  the  cooked  onions.  From  the  ground- 
floor  to  the  sixth  storey  one  could  hear  the  clatter  of  crockery, 
the  noise  of  saucepans  being  scoured,  of  pans  being  scraped 
with  spoons  to  clean  them.  On  the  first  floor,  where  a  door, 
bearing  in  big  letters  the  inscription  *  Draughtsman,'  stood 
ajar,  Gervaise  caught  sight  of  two  men  conversing  angrily 
amidst  the  smoke  from  their  pipes,  whilst  seated  at  an  oil- 
cloth covered  table,  whence  the  evening  meal  had  just  been 


COURTSHIP  4, 

cleared  away.  The  second  and  third  floors  were  quieter ; 
through  the  chinks  of  the  woodwork  one  merely  heard  the 
rocking  of  a  cradle,  the  smothered  cries  of  a  child,  and  the 
full  voice  of  a  woman,  all  intermingling:  and  flowing  on  like 
the  dull  murmur  of  a  stream,  without  any  one  word  being 
distinctly  audible.  And  Gervaise  read  different  names  on 
placards  nailed  upon  the  doors  :  '  Madame  Gaudron,  carder,' 
for  instance  ;  and  farther  off :  *  M.  Madinier,  manufactory  of 
cardboard  boxes.'  People  were  fighting  on  the  fourth  floor, 
which  shook  with  the  stamping  of  feet  and  upsetting  of 
furniture,  accompanied  by  an  awful  noise  of  oaths  and  blows ; 
all  this,  however,  did  not  prevent  the  neighbours  across  the 
landing  from  playing  cards,  with  their  door  open,  so  as  to  get 
a  little  air. 

When  Gervaise  reached  the  fifth  floor,  she  stopped  to  draw 
breath ;  she  was  not  used  to  so  much  climbing ;  that  ever 
turning  wall,  and  the  glimpses  of  lodgings  which  she  caught 
in  fast  succession,  made  her  head  ache.  Besides,  a  family 
now  blocked  up  the  landing ;  the  father  was  washing  some 
plates  on  a  little  earthenware  stove  near  the  sink,  whilst  the 
mother,  leaning  against  the  handrail,  was  washing  the  baby 
before  putting  it  to  bed.  However,  Coupeau  encouraged  the 
young  woman.  They  were  nearly  there,  said  he  ;  and  when 
he  at  length  reached  the  sixth  landing,  he  turned  round  to 
aid  her  with  a  smile.  She,  with  raised  head,  was  trying  to 
discover  whence  came  a  clear,  piercing  voice,  dominating  all 
other  noises,  which  she  had  heard  from  the  first  stair.  It 
came,  she  found,  from  an  attic  under  the  roof,  where  a  little  old 
woman  was  singing  as  she  dressed  some  cheap  dolls.  Then,  as 
a  tall  girl  entered  a  room  close  by  with  a  pail  of  water,  Gervaise 
espied  a  man  inside,  and  when  the  door  had  been  closed, 
she  read  upon  a  card  nailed  to  it :  '  Mademoiselle  Clemence, 
ironer.'  And  now,  right  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  as  she  was, 
short  of  breath,  and  with  her  legs  exhausted,  she  had  the 
curiosity  to  lean  over  the  hand-rail.  At  present  it  was  the 
lowest  gas-jet  which  looked  like  a  star  at  the  bottom  of 
the  narrow  well  by  which  the  six  flights  descended ;  and  all 
the  odours  and  turbulent,  seething  life  of  the  house  came 
up  in  one  breath,  as  it  were,  to  the  spot  where  she  stood, 
scorching  her  anxious  face  as  with  a  gust  of  heat,  as  she 
paused  on  the  edge  of  the  abyss. 

But  Coupeau  spoke  :  '  We're  not  there  yet,'  said  he.  *  Oh  ! 
'6*S  quite  a  journey  I ' 


48  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

He  had  entered  a  long  corridor  on  the  left ;  and  turned 
twice,  first  to  the  left  again,  and  afterwards  to  the  right.  The 
corridor  still  ran  on,  branching  off  here  and  there,  but 
invariably  narrow,  with  walls  full  of  crevices  and  plaster 
peeling  off,  while  at  distant  intervals  it  was  lighted  by  a 
slender  gas  jet ;  and  the  doors,  each  and  all  alike,  succeeding 
one  another  like  those  of  a  prison  or  a  convent,  and  almost 
always  open,  continued  to  afford  glimpses  of  homes  of  misery 
and  toil,  which  the  hot  June  evening  had  filled  with  a  reddish 
mist.  At  length,  however,  they  reached  a  small  passage, 
where  the  darkness  was  complete. 

*  Here  we  are,'  resumed  the  zinc-worker.  *  Be  careful ! 
keep  to  the  wall ;  there  are  three  steps.' 

Gervaise  cautiously  felt  her  way  in  the  obscurity.  Still 
she  stumbled,  and  then  counted  the  three  steps.  At  the  end 
of  the  passage,  however,  Coupeau  had  suddenly  opened  a 
door,  without  knocking,  and  a  bright  light  spread  along  the 
corridor.     Forthwith  they  entered. 

It  was  a  narrow  apartment,  looking  like  a  continuation  of 
the  passage.  A  faded  woollen  curtain,  which  for  the  moment 
was  caught  up  by  a  string,  divided  the  place  in  halves.  The 
first  division  contained  a  bedstead  pushed  away  under  an 
angle  of  the  attic  ceiling,  a  cast-iron  stove  still  warm  from 
the  cooking  of  the  dinner,  a  couple  of  chairs,  a  table  and  a 
wardrobe,  from  which  it  had  been  necessary  to  saw  off  a  cornice, 
so  as  to  make  it  fit  in  between  the  door  and  the  bedstead. 
Then,  the  second  part  of  the  room  was  fitted  up  as  a  work- 
shop :  at  the  end  was  a  narrow  forge  with  its  bellows ;  to  the 
right,  a  vice  fixed  to  the  wall  beneath  some  shelves  on  which 
various  old  iron  lay  scattered  ;  and  to  the  left,  near  the  window, 
a  small  workman's  bench,  littered  with  dirty,  greasy  pliers  and 
shears,  and  microscopical  saws. 

*  It's  us  I '  cried  Coupeau,  advancing  as  far  as  the  woollen 
curtain. 

But  at  first  no  one  answered.  Gervaise,  deeply  affected, 
especially  by  the  thought  that  she  was  about  to  enter  a  place 
full  of  gold,  stood  behind  the  zinc-worker  stammering,  and 
risking  nods  by  way  of  salutation.  The  brilliancy  of  the 
light,  for  a  lamp  burnt  on  the  bench  and  a  brazier  flared  in 
the  forge,  increased  her  confusion.  She  ended,  however,  by 
distinguishing  Madame  Lorilleux — a  short,  red-haired  and 
t&lerably  robust  woman  who,  with  all  the  strength  of  her 
eho2:t  arms,  and  the  assistance  of  a  big  pair  of  pincers,  was 


COURTSHIP  49 

pulling  some  block  metal  wire,  which  she  passed  through  the 
holes  of  a  draw-plate  fixed  to  the  vice.  Seated  at  the  bench, 
Lorilleux,  quite  as  small  of  stature,  but  more  slender  in  the 
shoulders,  was  accomplishing,  pliers  in  hand,  and  with  the 
vivacity  of  a  monkey,  some  work  of  so  minute  a  character 
that  it  was  impossible  to  follow  it  between  his  knotty  fingers. 
It  was  he  who  first  raised  his  head — a  head  with  scanty  locks 
and  a  long  sickly  face,  yellow  like  old  wax. 

'  Ah  I  it's  you ;  all  right,  all  right ! '  he  murmured. 
'  We're  in  a  hurry,  you  know.  Don't  come  into  the  workroom, 
you'd  be  in  our  way.     Stay  in  the  bedroom.' 

Then  he  reverted  to  his  microscopic  task,  his  face  again 
exposed  to  the  reflection  of  a  glass  globe  full  of  water,  through 
which  the  lamp  cast  a  circle  of  bright  light  upon  his  work. 

'  Sit  down  1  '  called  out  Madame  Lorilleux  in  her  turn. 
•  It's  that  lady,  isn't  it  ?    Very  well,  very  well  1  * 

She  had  rolled  the  wire,  and  now  carried  it  to  the  forge, 
where,  after  reviving  the  fire  of  the  brazier  with  a  large 
wooden  fan,  she  proceeded  to  temper  it  before  passing  it 
through  the  last  holes  of  the  draw-plate. 

Coupeau  fetched  the  two  chairs,  and  made  Gervaise  seat 
herself  close  to  the  curtain.  The  room  was  so  narrow  that 
there  was  not  space  for  him  to  sit  beside  her.  So  he  installed  him- 
self a  little  in  the  rear,  and  leant  forward  to  give  her  explana- 
tions of  the  work.  The  young  woman,  abashed  by  the  strange 
reception  of  the  Lorilleux,  and  ill  at  ease  beneath  their  covert 
glances,  had  a  singing  in  her  ears  which  prevented  her  from 
hearing.  She  thought  that  Madame  Lorilleux  looked  very 
old  for  her  thirty  years,  with  her  cross-grained  manner,  her 
dirty  appearance,  and  her  hair  rolled  like  a  cow's  tail 
over  her  unhooked  linen  jacket.  The  husband,  his  wife's 
senior  by  one  year  only,  appeared  quite  an  old  man,  with  thin 
wicked-looking  lips,  as  he  sat  there  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with  his 
bare  feet  in  a  pair  of  old  trodden-down  slippers.  But  what  upset 
Gervaise  the  most  was  the  smallness  of  the  workroom,  the 
smeared  walls,  the  tarnished  metal  tools,  all  the  black  dirt 
hanging  about  there,  amongst  such  odds  and  ends  as  are  sold 
by  dealers  in  old  iron.  It  was  terribly  hot,  too.  Beads  of 
perspiration  hung  about  the  man's  greenish  face,  whilst 
Madame  Lorilleux  ended  by  taking  off  her  loose  linen  jacket, 
and  continuing  her  work  with  arms  bare. 

*  And  the  gold  ? '  asked  Gervaise  in  a  low  voice. 

Her  anxious  glances  searched  the  corners,  seeking  amongst 


50  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

all  that  filth  for  the  resplendency  she  had  dreamt  of.  Bnt 
Coupeau  burst  out  laughing. 

'  Gold  ? '  said  he ;  *  why,  there's  some,  there's  some  more, 
and  there's  some  at  your  feet  1 ' 

He  pointed  successively  to  the  fine  wire  at  which  his 
sister  was  working,  and  to  another  roll  similar  to  ordinary  iron 
wire,  that  hung  against  the  wall,  close  to  the  vice ;  then, 
going  down  upon  all  fours,  he  picked  up,  beneath  the  wooden 
screen  which  covered  the  tiled  floor  of  the  workroom,  a  tiny 
piece  of  waste,  a  fragment  resembling  the  point  of  a  rusty 
needle.  But  Gervaise  protested.  Surely  that  black-looking 
metal,  as  ugly  as  iron,  could  not  be  gold  !  Coupeau  had  to 
bite  it  and  show  her  the  shining  mark  left  by  his  tooth. 
Then  he  resumed  his  explanations  :  the  masters  supplied  the 
gold  in  wire,  already  alloyed ;  the  workmen  first  passed  it 
through  the  draw-plate  to  reduce  it  to  the  required  thickness, 
being  careful  to  temper  it  five  or  six  times  over  during  the 
operation,  in  order  that  it  should  not  break.  Oh  1  it  required 
a  good  strong  wrist  and  practice !  His  sister  would  not  let 
her  husband  have  anything  to  do  with  the  draw-plates,  because 
he  coughed.  She  had  famous  arms  ;  he  had  seen  her  draw 
gold  as  fine  as  a  hair. 

Just  then  Lorilleux,  seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  paused, 
almost  doubled  up  on  his  stool.  And  amidst  his  attack  he 
spoke  in  a  choking  voice,  still  without  looking  at  Gervaise,  as 
though  indeed  he  were  merely  mentioning  the  thing  to  him- 
self :  '  I  make  the  herring-bone  chain.' 

Coupeau  compelled  Gervaise  to  get  up.  She  might  surely 
draw  nearer  and  see.  The  chain-maker  consented  with  a 
grunt.  He  wound  the  wire  prepared  by  his  wife  round  a 
mandrel,  a  very  thin  steel  rod.  Then  he  sawed  gently, 
cutting  the  wire  the  whole  length  of  the  mandrel,  each  turn 
forming  a  link,  which  he  afterwards  soldered.  In  accom- 
plishing this  operation  the  links  were  laid  on  a  large  piece 
of  charcoal,  wetted  with  a  drop  of  liquid  borax,  taken  from  a 
broken  glass  near  by  ;  and  then  rapidly  made  red  hot  at  the 
lamp,  beneath  the  horizontal  flame  produced  by  the  blow-pipe. 
And  when  Lorilleux  had  thus  soldered  about  a  hundred  links, 
he  again  reverted  to  the  minute  work  on  which  he  had  been 
previously  engaged,  pressed  against  the  edge  of  his  block — a 
small  piece  of  board,  which  the  friction  of  his  hands  had 
poHshed.  He  bent  each  link  with  his  pliers,  squeezed  one 
end  close,  then  inserted  it  in  the  last  link  already  in  place, 


COURTSHIP  51 

and,  with  the  aid  of  a  point,  again  opened  out  the  end  he  had 
squeezed  ;  and  this  he  did  with  such  continuous  regularity, 
the  Hnks  joining  one  another  with  such  rapidity,  that  Gervaise 
saw  the  chain  grow  longer  and  longer,  without  being  able  to 
follow,  or  well  understand  how  it  was  done. 

'  That's  the  herring-bone  chain,'  said  Coupeau.  *  There's 
also  the  long  link,  the  cable,  the  plain  ring,  and  the  spiral. 
But  that's  the  herring-bone.  Lorilleux  only  makes  the 
herring-bone  chain.' 

Lorilleux  chuckled  with  satisfaction ;  and  still  squeezing 
the  links,  invisible  between  his  black  finger-nails,  he 
exclaimed :  *  Listen  to  me.  Young  Cassis !  I  was  making  a 
calculation  this  morning.  I  began  work  when  I  was  twelve 
years  old,  you  know.  Well  I  can  you  guess  what  length  of 
herring-bone  chain  I  must  have  made  by  this  time  ? ' 

He  raised  his  pale  face,  blinked  his  red  eye-hds,  and  then 
added :  *  Twenty-six  thousand  feet,  do  you  hear  ?  Two 
leagues  I  That's  something !  a  herring-bone  chain  two 
leagues  long  !  It's  enough  to  twist  round  the  necks  of  all  the 
women  of  the  neighbourhood.  And,  you  know,  it's  still  in- 
creasing. I  hope  to  make  it  long  enough  to  reach  from  Paris 
to  Versailles.' 

Gervaise  had  returned  to  her  seat,  disenchanted  and  think- 
ing everything  very  ugly,  though  she  smiled,  just  to  please  the 
Lorilleux.  What  particularly  made  her  feel  ill  at  ease  was 
the  silence  respecting  her  marriage,  that  all-important 
matter  to  her,  but  for  which  she  would  certainly  never  have 
come  there.  The  Lorilleux  continued  to  treat  her  as  an  un- 
welcome inquisitive  person  brought  by  Coupeau.  And  when 
conversation  was  at  length  started,  it  turned  solely  on  the 
different  lodgers  of  the  house.  Madame  Lorilleux  asked  her 
brother  if  he  had  not  heard  some  fighting  as  he  came  upstairs. 
Those  Benards  knocked  each  other  about  every  day.  The 
husband  came  home  drunk  like  a  pig  ;  the  wife  also  had  her 
faults  :  she  said  the  most  disgusting  things. 

Then  they  talked  of  the  draughtsman  of  the  first  floor, 
that  big  sponger  Baudequin,  a  fellow  who  gave  himself  airs, 
who  owed  money  right  and  left,  but  was  always  smoking  and 
having  rows  with  his  friends.  Then  M.  Madinier's  cardboard 
box  manufactory  was  barely  jogging  along.  Only  the  previous 
day  he  had  dismissed  two  more  of  his  workwomen.  It  would 
be  a  blessing  if  he  smashed  up,  for  he  squandered  everything 
himself,  and  let  his  children  go  about  half-naked.     Then 

E  2 


52  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Madame  Gaudron,  who  carded  mattresses,  was  going  to  have 
another  baby ;  there  was  no  end  apparently  to  some  people's 
families.  As  for  the  Coquets,  of  the  fifth  floor,  the  landlord 
had  given  them  notice  :  they  owed  three  quarters'  rent, 
besides  which,  they  persisted  in  lighting  their  stove  on  the 
landing.  Only  the  previous  Saturday,  Mademoiselle  Kemanjou, 
the  old  maid  who  lived  above  them,  had  gone  down,  on  her 
way  out  to  deliver  her  dolls,  but  just  in  time  to  prevent  little 
Linguerlot  from  being  burnt  to  death.  Then,  as  regards 
Mademoiselle  Clemence,  the  ironer,  she  behaved  as  she 
pleased ;  but  one  could  not  deny  that  she  adored  animals, 
and  had  a  heart  of  gold.  "What  a  pity  it  was  that  such  a 
fine  girl  should  have  such  loose  morals.  She  would  surely 
end  by  going  to  the  bad  altogether. 

*  Look,  here's  one,'  said  Lorilleux  to  his  wife,  giving  her 
the  piece  of  chain  he  had  been  working  on  ever  since  his 
lunch.  *  You  can  trim  it.'  Then  he  added,  with  the  persist- 
ence of  a  man  who  does  not  easily  relinquish  a  joke : 
*  Another  four  feet  and  a  half.  That  brings  me  nearer  to 
Versailles.' 

Madame  Lorilleux,  after  tempering  the  chain  again, 
trimmed  it  by  passing  it  through  the  regulating  draw-plate. 
Then  she  placed  it  in  a  little  copper  saucepan  with  a  long 
handle,  containing  a  solution  of  nitric  acid,  and  scoured  it  at 
the  fire  of  the  forge.  Gervaise,  again  pushed  forward  by 
Coupeau,  had  to  follow  this  last  operation.  When  the  chain 
was  thoroughly  cleansed,  it  showed  a  dull  red  colour.  It  was 
finished  and  ready  to  be  delivered. 

*  They're  always  delivered  hke  that,  in  the  rough,'  the 
zinc-worker  explained.  *  The  polishers  rub  them  afterwards 
with  cloths.' 

But  Gervaise  felt  her  courage  failing  her.  She  was  half 
suffocated  by  the  heat,  which  had  become  more  and  more 
intense,  for  the  door  was  kept  shut,  as  Lorilleux  caught  cold 
from  the  slightest  draught.  Then,  as  the  others  still  made 
no  allusion  to  the  marriage,  the  young  woman  wanted  to  go  off, 
and  gently  pulled  Coupeau's  jacket.  He  understood  her. 
Besides,  he  also  was  beginning  to  feel  ill  at  ease  and  vexed  by 
their  affected  silence. 

*  Well,  we're  off,'  said  he.  *  We  mustn't  keep  you  from 
your  work.'  Then  he  moved  about  for  a  moment,  waiting, 
hoping  for  a  word,  an  allusion  of  some  kind  or  other.  And 
at  length,  as  none  came,  he  decided  to  broach  the  subject  him- 


COURTSHIP  53 

self :     *  I  say,  Lorilleux,  we're  counting  on  you ;  you'll  be  my 
wife's  witness  ? ' 

The  chain-maker  raised  his  head,  chuckled  and  feigned 
surprise  ;  whilst  his  wife,  leaving  her  draw-plates,  took  her 
stand  in  the  middle  of  the  workroom. 

*  So  it's  serious,  then  ?  '  murmured  Lorilleux.  •  One  never 
knows  whether  that  rascal,  Young  Cassis,  is  joking  or  not.' 

*  Ah,  yes,  madame's  the  person,'  said  the  wife  in  her  turn, 
as  she  scrutinised  Gervaise.  *  Well,  we've  no  advice  to  give 
you,  we  haven't.  It's  a  funny  idea  to  go  and  get  married,  all 
the  same.  Anyhow,  it's  your  own  wish.  When  it  doesn't 
succeed  one  has  only  oneself  to  blame,  that's  all.  And  it 
doesn't  often  succeed,  not  often,  not  often.' 

She  spoke  these  last  words  more  slowly,  shaking  her  head 
while  gazing  at  the  young  woman  from  her  face  to  her  hands, 
and  then  to  her  feet.  She  probably  found  her  better  looking 
than  she  had  expected. 

*  My  brother  is  perfectly  free,'  she  continued  more  stiffly. 
*  No  doubt  the  family  might  have  wished — one  always  makes 
projects.  But  things  take  such  funny  turns.  For  myself,  I 
don't  want  to  have  any  unpleasantness.  Had  he  brought  us 
the  lowest  of  the  low,  I  should  merely  have  said  to  him  : 
"  Marry  her  and  leave  me  in  peace  !  "  He  was  not  badly  off 
here,  however,  with  us.  He's  fat  enough  ;  one  can  very  well 
see  that  he  hasn't  fasted  much  ;  and  he  has  always  found  his 
soup  hot  and  ready  at  the  very  minute.  I  say,  Lorilleux, 
don't  you  think  madame's  like  Th^rese — you  know  whom  I 
mean,  that  woman  who  used  to  live  opposite,  and  who  died  of 
consumption  ?  ' 

*Yes,  there's  a  certain  resemblance,'  replied  the  chain- 
maker. 

'  And  you've  got  two  children,  madame  ?  Now,  I  must 
admit  I  said  to  my  brother  :  "  I  can't  understand  how  you  can 
want  to  marry  a  woman  with  two  children."  You  mustn't  be 
offended  if  I  think  of  his  interests ;  it's  only  natural.  You 
don't  look  very  strong  either.  Don't  you  think,  Lorilleux, 
that  madame  doesn't  look  very  s^-i^ong  ?  ' 

'  No,  no,  she's  not  strong.' 

They  did  not  mention  her  leg ;  but  Gervaise  understood 
by  their  side  glances,  and  the  curling  of  their  lips,  that  they 
were  alluding  to  it.  She  stood  before  them,  wrapped  in  her 
thin  shawl  with  yellow  palms,  and  replying  in  monosyllables, 
as  though  in  the  presence  of  judges.     Coupeau,  seeing  that 


54  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

she  was  suffering,  ended  by  exclaiming :  •  All  that*s  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  What  you  say  and  nothing  are  the  same  thing. 
The  wedding  will  take  place  on  Saturday,  July  29.  I've 
calculated  by  the  almanac.  Is  it  settled  ?  does  that  suit  you  ? ' 

*  Oh,  it's  all  the  same  to  us,'  said  his  sister.  *  There  was 
no  necessity  to  consult  us.  I  sha'n't  prevent  Lorilleux  from 
being  witness.    I  only  want  peace  and  quietness.' 

Gervaise,  hanging  her  head,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
herself,  had  thrust  the  toe  of  her  boot  through  one  of  the  open- 
ings of  the  wooden  screen  which  covered  the  tiled  floor  of  the 
workroom  ;  then,  afraid  of  having  disturbed  something  as  she 
withdrew  it,  she  stooped  down  and  felt  about  with  her  hand. 
Lorilleux  hastily  brought  the  lamp  and  examined  her  fingers 
suspiciously. 

'  You  must  be  careful,'  said  he ;  *  for  tiny  bits  of  gold  stick 
to  one's  shoes,  and  get  carried  away  without  one  knowing  it.' 

There  was  quite  a  fuss.  The  masters  did  not  allow  a 
milligramme  of  waste,  said  the  chain-maker ;  and  he  showed 
the  hare's  foot  with  which  he  brushed  up  the  particles  of  gold 
that  remained  on  the  block  and  the  skin  which  he  spread  over 
his  knees  purposely  to  receive  them.  Twice  a  week  the  work- 
room was  carefully  swept  out ;  they  kept  all  their  dust  and 
burnt  it,  and  then  sifted  the  ashes,  in  which  every  month  they 
found  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  francs'  worth  of  gold.  Mean- 
time Madame  Lorilleux  did  not  take  her  eyes  off  Gervaise's 
shoes.  *  There's  no  occasion  to  get  angry,'  she  murmured, 
with  an  amiable  smile.  '  Madame  can  very  well  look  at  the 
soles  of  her  shoes.' 

Thereupon,  Gervaise,  turning  very  red,  sat  down  again, 
and,  holding  up  her  feet,  showed  that  there  was  nothing 
clinging  to  them.  Coupeau,  however,  had  already  opened  the 
door,  brusquely  exclaiming  :  *  Good-night !  '  And  he  called  to 
her  from  the  corridor.  Then  she  in  her  turn  went  off,  after 
stammering  a  few  polite  words  :  she  hoped  to  see  them  again, 
and  that  they  would  all  agree  well  together.  But  the  Lorilleux 
had  already  resumed  their  task  in  that  black  hole  of  a  work- 
room, where  the  little  forge  shone  like  a  last  lump  of  coal 
coming  to  white  heat  in  the  high  temperature  of  a  furnace. 
The  wife,  with  her  chemise  slipping  from  one  shoulder,  her 
skin  reddened  by  the  reflections  of  the  brazier,  was  drawing 
another  wire,  each  effort  distending  her  neck,  whose  muscles 
worked  like  strings.  And  the  husband,  bending  beneath  the 
greenish  gleam  of  the  globe  of  water,  commenced  a  fresh 


COURTSHIP  55 

piece  of  chain,  bending  each  link  with  his  pliers,  squeezing  it 
at  one  end,  inserting  it  in  the  previous  one,  and  then  opening 
out  the  end  again  with  the  aid  of  a  point,  ever  continuously 
and  mechanically,  without  wasting  a  movement  of  his  hand  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  face. 

"When  Gervaise  emerged  from  the  corridor  on  to  the 
sixth  floor  landing,  she  could  not  help  saying,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes  :  *■  That  doesn't  promise  much  happiness.' 

Coupeau  shook  his  head  furiously.  He  would  make 
Lorilleux  smart  for  that  evening.  Had  anyone  ever  seen 
such  a  miserly  fellow  ?  to  think  that  they  were  going  to  walk 
off  with  two  or  three  grains  of  his  gold  dust !  All  the  fuss 
they  made  was  from  pure  avarice.  His  sister  had  thought, 
perhaps,  that  he  would  always  remain  a  bachelor,  just  to 
enable  her  to  economise  four  sous  a  day  on  her  dinner. 
However,  the  marriage  would  take  place  all  the  same  on  July 
29.     He  did  not  care  a  hang  for  them  I 

But  Gervaise,  as  they  went  downstairs,  felt  heavy  at 
heart,  troubled  by  a  stupid  fear,  w^hich  made  her  gaze  anxi- 
ously at  the  lengthened  shadows  of  the  staircase.  It  was  now 
wrapped  in  silence,  deserted,  and  lighted  only  by  the  gas-jet  of 
the  second  floor  landing,  the  small  flame  of  which  set  the  faint 
glimmer  of  a  night-light  in  the  depths  of  that  well  of  gloom. 
Deep  silence — the  heavy  slumber  of  workmen  who  had 
gone  to  bed  immediately  after  their  evening  meal — reigned 
behind  every  closed  door,  save  that  of  the  ironer's  room, 
whence  came  a  smothered  laugh,  whilst  a  faint  ray  of  light 
shone  through  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou's  key-hole,  as,  with 
the  click-click  of  her  scissors,  the  old  maid  continued  to  cut 
out  dresses  for  thirteen-sou  dolls.  Then,  on  the  floor  below, 
at  Madame  Gaudron's,  a  child  was  still  crying  ;  and,  all  the 
way  down,  the  drain-sinks  gave  forth  a  stronger  smell  amidst 
the  dark,  dumb  peacefulness. 

When  the  courtyard  was  reached,  whilst  Coupeau,  in  a 
sing-song  voice,  called  to  have  the  door  opened,  Gervaise 
turned  to  look  once  more  at  the  house.  It  seemed  to  have 
grown  larger  beneath  the  moonless  sky.  The  grey  faQades, 
as  though  cleansed  of  their  leprosy  and  coloured  with  shadow, 
spread  out  and  ascended,  looking  quite  flat  and  yet  more 
bare,  denuded  as  they  now  were  of  the  rags  which,  in  the 
daytime,  had  been  hung  to  dry  in  the  sun.  The  closed  windows 
showed  no  sign  of  life,  save  that  here  and  there  in  sundry 
corners  a  few,  vividly  Ughted  up,  looked  like  squinting  eyes. 


56  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

And  over  each  entrance,  from  bottom  to  top,  the  successive 
windows  of  the  six  landings,  whitened  by  a  feeble  ghmmer, 
formed  as  it  were  a  narrow  tower  of  light ;  while  a  ray  from 
a  lamp  in  the  cardboard-box  manufactory  on  tiae  second  floor 
sent  a  yellow  trail  across  the  paved  courtyard,  piercing  the 
gloom  which  enveloped  the  ground-floor  workshops.  And  in 
the  depths  of  the  darkness,  in  the  corner  which  was  ever 
damp,  drops  of  water,  sonorous  by  reason  of  the  prevailing 
silence,  fell  one  by  one  from  the  tap  which  had  not  been  pro- 
perly turned  off.  Then  it  seemed  to  Gervaise  that  the  house 
was  upon  her,  crushing  her  with  its  weight,  and  thrilling  her 
shoulders  with  an  icy  coldness.  She  was  still  a  prey  to  that 
stupid  fear  of  hers— a  childish  fancy — at  which  she  smiled 
directly  afterwards. 

*  Take  care ! '  cried  Coupeau.  And  in  order  to  get  out, 
she  had  to  jump  over  a  great  pool  of  water  which  had  flowed 
from  the  dye-works.  That  day  the  pool  was  blue,  of  the  deep 
azure  of  a  summer  sky,  which  the  doorkeeper's  little  night- 
lamp  spangled  with  stars. 


in 

THE    VP-EDDING 

Geevaise  did  not  wish  for  any  wedding  festivities. 
What  was  the  use  of  spending  money  ?  asked  she.  Besides, 
she  still  felt  somewhat  ashamed  ;  it  seemed  to  her  quite  un- 
necessary to  parade  the  marriage  before  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood. But  Coupeau  protested  against  this.  People  couldn't 
be  married  without  having  a  feed,  said  he  ;  and  for  his  part 
he  didn't  care  a  button  for  the  folks  of  the  neighbourhood  ! 
Still  it  would  of  course  merely  be  something  very  simple — a 
little  outing  in  the  afternoon,  before  having  a  bite  at  any 
handy  eating-house.  And  most  certainly  they  would  have  no 
music  at  dessert,  no  clarionet  to  make  the  ladies  dance.  It 
would  simply  be  a  question  of  a  few  drinks  together  before 
going  home  to  by-by,  each  in  his  own  crib. 

Chaffing  and  joking  in  this  way,  the  zinc-worker,  on 
promising  that  there  should  be  no  larks,  got  the  young 
woman  to  consent.  He  would  keep  his  eye  on  the  glasses, 
he  said,  to  prevent  any  sun-strokes.     Then  he  organised  a 


THE    WEDDING  57 

sort  of  pic-nic  at  five  francs  a  head,  at  the  *  Silver  Windmill/ 
kept  by  one  Auguste,  on  the  Boulevard  de  la  Chapelle.  It 
was  a  small  and  fairly  cheap  wine-  shop,  with  a  dancing  place 
in  the  rear,  beneath  the  three  acacias  of  the  courtyard. 
They  would  be  very  comfortable  on  the  first  floor,  said 
Coupeau,  who  spent  the  next  ten  days  in  recruiting  guests 
among  the  tenants  of  the  house  where  his  sister  lived  in  the 
Kue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or — M.  Madinier,  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou, 
Madame  Gaudron,  and  her  husband.  He  even  got  Gervaise 
to  consent  to  the  presence  of  two  of  his  comrades — Bibi- 
the- Smoker  and  My-Boots.  My-Boots,  no  doubt,  was  a 
boozer;  but  then  he  had  such  a  jolly  appetite  that  he 
was  always  asked  to  gatherings  of  this  sort,  just  for  the 
sight  of  the  caterer's  face  on  seeing  him  swallow  twelve 
pounds  of  bread  right  off,  as  if,  indeed,  he  were  some  bottom- 
less pit.  The  young  woman,  on  her  side,  promised  to  bring 
her  employer,  Madame  Fauconnier,  and  the  Boches,  who 
were  very  worthy  people.  All  counted,  they  found  there 
would  be  fifteen  at  table,  which  was  quite  enough.  When 
too  many  collect  together  things  always  end  by  a  quarrel. 

Coupeau,  however,  had  no  money.  Without  wishing  to 
do  the  grand,  he  desired  to  behave  properly.  So  he  borrowed 
fifty  francs  of  his  employer,  out  of  which  he  first  of  all 
purchased  the  wedding-ring — a  twelve  franc  gold  wedding- 
ring,  which  Lorilleux  procured  for  him  at  the  wholesale 
price  of  nine  francs.  Next  he  ordered  a  frock  coat,  a  pair 
of  trousers,  and  a  waistcoat  of  a  tailor  in  the  Rue  Myrrha,  to 
whom  he  gave  merely  twenty-five  francs  on  account;  his 
patent  leather  shoes  and  his  Bolivar  hat  could  still  do  duty. 
When  he  had  put  by  the  ten  francs  for  his  own  and  Gervaise's 
share  of  the  feast — the  two  children  not  being  charged  for — 
he  had  exactly  six  francs  left — the  price  of  a  mass  at  the 
altar  of  the  poor.  He  was  certainly  no  friend  of  the  crows, 
as  he  called  the  priests,  and  it  almost  broke  his  heart  to  take 
his  six  francs  to  those  junketers,  who  had  no  need  of  his 
money  to  keep  their  throats  moist.  But,  in  spite  of  what 
some  may  say,  a  marriage  without  a  mass  is  no  marriage  at 
all.  Sohe  went  himself  to  the  church  to  make  a  bargain  ;  and 
for  an  hour  argued  with  a  little  old  priest  in  a  dirty  cassock,  who 
was  as  big  a  thief  as  any  greengrocer's  wife.  Coupeau  felt 
incHned  to  pommel  him.  Then  for  a  joke  he  asked  him  if  he 
couldn't  dispose  of  a  second-hand  mass,  not  too  much 
knocked  about,  which  would  still  do  for  an  easy-going  couple. 


58  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

The  little  old  priest,  after  grunting  that  Providence  would  have 
no  pleasure  in  blessing  his  union,  ended  by  promising  the 
mass  for  five  francs.  This,  at  all  events,  was  a  saving  of 
twenty  sous,  which  was  all  the  money  that  was  left  to  Coupeau. 

Gervaise  on  her  side  likewise  wanted  to  look  decent.  As 
soon  as  the  marriage  was  settled  she  made  arrangements, 
worked  overtime  in  the  evenings,  and  managed  to  put  by 
thirty  francs.  She  had  a  great  longing  for  a  little  silk  mantle 
which  she  had  seen  marked  thirteen  francs  in  the  Rue  du  Fau- 
bourg-Poissonniere.  She  treated  herself  to  it,  and  then  for 
another  ten  francs  bought  of  the  husband  of  a  washerwoman 
who  had  died  in  Madame  Fauconnier's  house  an  Oxiord-blue 
woollen  dress,  which  she  altered  to  fit  herself.  With  the 
seven  francs  remaining  she  procured  a  pair  of  cotton  gloves, 
a  rose  for  her  cap,  and  some  shoes  for  Claude,  her  elder  boy. 
Fortunately,  the  youngsters'  blouses  were  passable.  How- 
ever, she  spent  four  nights  in  cleaning  everything,  and  mend- 
ing even  the  smallest  holes  in  her  stockings  and  underlinen. 

Even  on  the  Friday  night,  the  eve  of  the  great  day, 
Gervaise  and  Coupeau,  after  returning  home  from  work,  still 
had  a  good  deal  of  running  about  to  do  until  quite  eleven 
o'clock.  Then,  before  separating  for  the  night,  they  spent  an 
hour  together  in  the  young  woman's  room,  well  pleased  at 
being  at  the  end  of  all  the  pother.  In  spite  of  their  resolution 
not  to  give  themselves  a  back-ache  for  the  sake  of  their  neigh- 
bours, they  had  ended  by  putting  their  hearts  into  everything, 
and  thoroughly  tiring  themselves  out.  When  they  wished 
each  other  good-night  they  were  almost  asleep ;  but,  all 
the  same,  both  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  reUef.  Everything  was 
now  settled.  Coupeau's  witnesses  were  to  be  M.  Madinier  and 
Bibi-the- Smoker;  whilst  Gervaise  rehed  on  Lorilleux  and 
Boche.  The  six  of  them  were  to  go  quietly  to  the  town-hall 
and  the  church,  without  draggiog  a  number  of  others  behind 
them.  The  bridegroom's  two  sisters  had  even  declared  that 
they  would  stay  at  home,  as  their  presence  was  not  at  all 
necessary.  Mother  Coupeau  alone  had  burst  out  crying,  say- 
ing that  sooner  than  keep  away  she  would  go  before  them 
and  hide  herself  in  a  corner  ;  and  so  they  promised  to  take 
her.  As  for  the  general  meeting  of  the  wedding  party,  this 
was  fixed  for  one  o'clock,  at  the  *  Silver  Windmill,'  whence 
they  would  go  to  seek  an  appetite  on  the  plain  of  Saint-Denis  ; 
taking  the  train  thither  and  returning  on  foot  by  the  high 
road.     The  outing  promised  to  be  a  very  pleasant  one  ;  not  ^ 


THE    WEDDING  59 

tip-top  spree  certainly,  but  a  bit  of  fun— something  nice  and 
respectable. 

Whilst  dressing  on  the  Saturday  morning,  Coupeau  felt 
uneasy  at  having  only  his  twenty  sou  piece  left.  It  had  just 
occurred  to  him  that,  as  a  matter  of  politeness,  he  ought  to 
offer  the  witnesses  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  slice  of  ham  whilst 
waiting  for  the  dinner  hour.  Then,  perhaps,  there  would  be 
other  unforeseen  expenses.  Twenty  sous ^ were  decidedly  not 
sufficient.  So,  after  taking  Claude  and  Etienne  to  Madame 
Boche,  who  was  to  bring  them  to  the  dinner  in  the  evening, 
he  hastened  to  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  and  boldly  went 
upstairs  to  borrow  ten  francs  of  Lorilleux.  True,  he  could 
scarcely  get  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  for  he  knew  the 
grimace  his  brother-in-law  would  make.  The  latter  grunted, 
chuckled  in  an  ill-natured  way,  and  finally  handed  over  two 
five  franc  pieces.  But  Coupeau  heard  his  sister  mutter 
between  her  teeth  that  '  it  was  beginning  well.* 

The  marriage  at  the  town-hall  was  to  take  place  at  half- 
past  ten.  It  was  beautiful  weather,  with  a  storm-presaging 
sun  which  seemed  to  roast  the  streets.  To  avoid  being  stared 
at,  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  the  old  mother,  and  the  four 
witnesses  separated  into  two  parties.  Gervaise  walked  in 
front  with  Lorilleux,  who  gave  her  his  arm ;  whilst  M. 
Madinier  followed  with  mother  Coupeau.  Then,  twenty  steps 
behind,  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  came  Coupeau,  Boche, 
and  Bibi-the- Smoker.  These  three  were  in  black  frock  coats, 
and  walked  with  bent  shoulders  and  swinging  arms.  Boche 
wore  a  pair  of  yellow  trousers  ;  while  Bibi-the- Smoker,  lacking 
a  waistcoat,  was  buttoned  up  to  his  neck,  where  only  a  bit  of 
neckerchief,  rolled  round  like  a  piece  of  rope,  was  to  be  seen. 
M.  Madinier  alone  wore  a  dress  coat — a  big  one  with  square 
cut  tails  ;  and  the  passers-by  stopped  to  look  at  the  gentleman 
escorting  fat  Mother  Coupeau,  who  on  her  side  was  arrayed 
in  a  green  shawl  and  a  black  cap  with  red  ribbons.  Gervaise, 
very  gentle  and  gay,  in  her  dark  blue  dress,  her  shoulders 
tightly  encompassed  by  her  scanty  little  mantle,  listened  com- 
placently to  the  chuckling  of  Lorilleux,  who  in  spite  of  the 
hpat  had  put  on  a  huge  loose  overcoat,  in  which  he  looked  lost. 
And  now  and  again,  at  the  street  corners,  the  young  woman 
slightly  turned  her  head,  and  smiled  knowingly  at  Coupeau, 
who  felt  ill  at  ease  in  his  new  clothes,  which  were  shining  in 
the  sun. 

Though  they  walked  very  slowly,  they  arrived   at   the 


6o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

tiown-hall  quite  half  an  hour  too  soon.  And  as  the  mayor 
was  late,  their  turn  was  not  reached  till  close  upon  eleven 
o'clock.  They  sat  waiting  on  some  chairs  in  a  corner  of  the 
apartment,  looking  by  turns  at  the  high  ceihng  and  the  bare 
walls,  or  talking  low,  and  over-politely  pushing  back  their 
chairs  each  time  that  one  of  the  office  attendants  passed. 
Yet,  in  undertones  among  themselves,  they  called  the  mayor 
a  lazy  lubber.  He  was  no  doubt  at  his  blonde's,  or,  perhaps, 
he  had  inadvertently  swallowed  his  official  sash.  However, 
when  the  magistrate  appeared  they  all  rose  respectfully.  But 
to  their  surprise  they  were  motioned  back  to  their  seats, 
whence,  lost  amidst  three  middle-class  wedding  parties,  they 
had  to  witness  three  other  marriages  with  brides  dressed  in 
white,  httle  girls  with  hair  in  curls,  young  ladies  wearing  pink 
sashes,  and  interminable  processions  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
all  rigged  out  in  their  Sunday  best,  and  looking  superlatively 
respectable. 

When  Coupeau  and  Gervaise  were  at  length  called,  they 
almost  missed  being  married,  for  Bibi-the- Smoker  had 
disappeared.  Boche  finally  discovered  him  smoking  his  pipe 
on  the  square  outside.  He  had  got  tired  of  remaining  in  the 
building,  and  no  wonder,  said  he.  They  were  a  nice  lot  of 
stuck-up  coves  in  that  show  to  keep  people  waiting  such  a 
tremendous  time,  just  because  they  hadn't  got  yellow  kid 
gloves  on  their  hands.  However,  the  various  formalities — the 
reading  of  the  Code,  the  different  questions,  the  signing  of  the 
documents — were  all  got  through  so  rapidly  that  the  Coupeau 
party  looked  at  each  other  with  an  idea  that  they  had  been 
robbed  of  a  good  half  of  the  ceremony.  Gervaise,  dizzy,  her 
heart  full,  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  while  Mother 
Coupeau  wept  bitterly.  With  the  exception  of  the  bridegroom, 
who,  being  unable  to  write,  simply  marked  his  cross  on  the 
register,  all  duly  signed  the  latter,  inscribing  their  various 
names  therein  in  big  straggling  letters.  And  they  each  gave 
four  sous  for  the  poor.  When  an  attendant  handed  the  mar- 
riage certificate  to  Coupeau,  he,  prompted  by  Gervaise,  who 
nudged  his  elbow,  decided  to  fork  out  another  five  sous. 

It  was  a  long  walk  from  the  town-hall  to  the  church.  On 
the  way  the  men  drank  some  beer,  whilst  Mother  Coupeau  and 
Gervaise  took  some  black  currant  syrup  and  water.  And  they 
had  to  follow  a  long  street  upon  which  the  sun  shone  fiercely, 
without  leaving  the  least  bit  of  shade.  The  beadle  was  wait- 
ing for  them  in  the  middle  of  the  empty  church  ;  and  pushed 


THE    WEDDING  6i 

them  towards  a  little  side  chapel  while  asking  them  angrily 
whether  it  was  to  show  their  contempt  for  religion  that  they 
arrived  so  late.  A  sulky-looking  priest,  whose  face  was  pale 
with  hunger,  then  advanced  with  great  strides,  preceded  by  an 
acolyte  trotting  along  in  a  dirty  surpUce.  The  reverend  gen- 
tleman hurried  through  the  mass,  gobbling  up  the  Latin 
phrases,  turning  about,  stooping,  spreading  out  his  arms,  all  in 
great  haste,  whilst  glancing  askance  at  the  bridal  couple  and 
their  witnesses.  In  front  of  the  altar,  Coupeau  and  Gervaise, 
feeling  very  ill  at  ease,  not  knowing  when  they  ought  to  kneel, 
stand  up  or  sit  down,  waited  for  signs  from  the  acolyte.  The 
witnesses,  in  order  to  be  decent,  stood  up  the  whole  time, 
whilst  Mother  Coupeau,  again  overcome  by  tears,  wept  into 
the  open  missal  which  she  had  borrowed  from  a  neighbour. 
However,  twelve  o'clock  had  struck,  the  last  mass  had  been 
said,  and  the  church  gradually  resounded  with  the  tread  of  the 
sacristans'  footsteps  and  the  noise  of  chairs  being  put  back  in 
their  places.  The  high  altar  was  evidently  being  got  ready 
for  some  grand  religious  ceremony,  for  one  could  hear  the 
hammering  of  upholsterers  who  were  nailing  up  the  hangings. 
And  in  the  depths  of  the  little  out-of-the-way  chapel,  amidst 
the  dust  raised  by  the  beadle,  who  was  sweeping  around,  the 
sulky-looking  priest  quickly  passed  his  bony  hands  over  the  bent 
heads  of  Gervaise  and  Coupeau,  whom  he  seemed  to  be  uniting 
in  the  midst  of  a  removal.  "When  the  wedding  party  had 
again  signed  a  register  in  the  vestry,  and  were  once  more  out 
in  the  sunshine  beneath  the  porch,  they  remained  there  for 
a  moment  bewildered  and  out  of  breath  at  having  been 
despatched  so  quickly. 

*  There !  *  said  Coupeau,  laughing  in  an  embarrassed  man- 
ner. Truth  to  tell,  nothing  in  the  business  seemed  to  him  at 
all  funny;  however,  he  added :  *  Well !  it  doesn't  take  long. 
They  do  it  all  in  double-quick  time.  It's  like  at  the  dentist's  : 
you've  no  time  to  call  out,  they  marry  you  without  inflicting 
pain.' 

*  Yes,  yes,  it's  fine  work,'  murmured  Lorilleux  chuckling. 
*  You're  joined  in  five  minutes  and  you  can't  be  parted  for  the 
rest  of  your  life.^     Ah  !  poor  Young  Cassis!  ' 

Then  the  four  witnesses  patted  the  zinc-worker  on  the 

shoulders,  whilst  he  drew  himself  erect.     Meantime  Gervaise 

embraced  Mother  Coupeau,  smiling,  yet  with  moist  eyes.    And 

in  answer  to  the  old  woman's  broken  words,  she  said  :  '  Don't 

^  There  was  no  divorce  law  then  in  France. 


62  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

be  afraid,  I  shall  do  my  best.  If  anything  goes  wrong  it  won't 
be  my  fault.  No,  that's  very  certain  ;  I  want  to  be  happy  too 
much.  Anyhow,  it's  done  now,  isn't  it  ?  It's  for  him  and  me 
to  agree  together  and  do  our  best  to  help  each  other.' 

Then  they  went  straight  to  the  *  Silver  Windmill.'  Coupeau 
had  taken  his  wife's  arm.  He  and  she,  laughing  together, 
walked  quickly,  as  though  carried  away,  quite  two  hundred 
steps  in  advance  of  the  others,  without  noticing  the  houses,  or 
the  passers-by,  or  the  vehicles.  The  deafening  noises  of  the 
faubourg  sounded  like  bells  in  their  ears.  When  they  reached 
the  wine-shop,  Coupeau  at  once  ordered  two  quarts  of  wine, 
some  bread  and  some  slices  of  ham,  to  be  served  without  plates 
or  table-cloth,  simply  by  way  of  a  snack,  in  the  little  glazed 
closet  on  the  ground  floor.  However,  seeing  that  Boche  and 
Bibi-the- Smoker  appeared  to  be  really  hungry,  he  ordered  a 
third  quart  and  a  piece  of  Brie  cheese.  Mother  Coupeau  had 
no  appetite,  she  was  in  too  choking  a  condition  to  be  able  to 
eat.  As  for  Gervaise,  who  was  dying  of  thirst,  she  drank 
several  large  glassfuls  of  water  just  tinged  with  wine. 

*  I'll  settle  for  this,'  said  Coupeau,  going  at  once  to  the  bar, 
where  he  paid  the  landlord  four  francs  and  five  sous. 

It  was  now  one  o'clock,  and  the  other  guests  began  to  arrive. 
Gervaise's  employer,  Madame  Fauconnier,  a  fat  and  still  good- 
looking  woman,  was  the  first  to  put  in  an  appearance  ;  she  wore 
a  dress  of  creamy  cretonne  with  a  flowery  pattern,  a  pink  tie 
and  a  cap  over-trimmed  with  flowers.  Next,  all  together,  came 
Mademoiselle  Eemanjou,  looking  very  thin  in  the  eternal  black 
dress  which  she  seemed  never  to  discard  even  when  she  went  to 
bed,  and  the  two  Gaudrons— the  husband,  who  had  the  heavy 
tread  of  a  brute  beast,  almost  rending  his  brown  jacket  at  the 
slightest  movement,  while  the  wife,  a  naturally  stout  woman, 
showed  signs  of  approaching  maternity,  which  were  empha- 
sised by  the  crude  violet  hue  of  her  ample  skirts.  Coupeau 
explained  that  they  were  not  to  wait  for  My-Boots,  who  would 
join  the  party  on  the  Route  de  Saint-Denis. 

*  Ah !  well ! '  exclaimed  the  widowed  Madame  Lerat, 
Coupeau's  eldest  sister,  as  she  came  in,  '  it'll  be  pouring  in 
torrents  soon  !     That'll  be  pleasant,  I  must  say.' 

Then  she  called  every  one  to  the  door  of  the  wine-shop  to 
see  the  ink-black  clouds  which  were  rapidly  rising  to  the 
south  of  Paris.  An  artificial-flower  maker  by  profession, 
Madame  Lerat  was  a  tall  lean  woman  of  masculine  appear- 
ance, who  talked  through  her  nose,  handled  her  parasol  like 


THE    WEDDING  63 

a  walking-stick,  and  was  badly  dressed  in  a  puoe-coloured 
gown,  which  was  too  big  for  her,  besides  being  trimmed  with 
some  long  fringe,  which  made  her  resemble  a  skinny  poodle 
that  has  just  emerged  from  the  water.  When  she  had  kissed 
Gervaise,  she  resumed  :  *  You've  no  idea  how  hot  it  is  in  the 
street.  It's  just  as  though  fire  was  being  thrown  in  your 
face.' 

The  others  then  declared  that  they  had  felt  the  storm 
coming  on  for  a  long  while  past.  M.  Madinier,  for  instance, 
on  leaving  the  church  had  seen  perfectly  well  what  they 
had  to  expect.  Lorilleux  related,  too,  that  his  corns  had 
kept  him  awake  ever  since  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Besides,  things  could  not  finish  otherwise ;  the  last  three  days 
had  been  really  too  warm. 

*  Oh  !  perhaps  it  will  pass  over,'  repeated  Coupeau,  standing 
at  the  doorway,  and  anxiously  looking  at  the  sky.  '  We're 
only  waiting  for  my  other  sister ;  if  she  would  make  haste 
and  come  we  might  start  all  the  same.' 

Madame  Lorilleux  was  indeed  behind  time.  Madame 
Lerat  had  called  upon  her  in  order  that  they  might  come 
together ;  but  she  had  found  her  putting  on  her  stays,  and 
they  had  had  a  bit  of  a  row.  The  tall  widow  added,  in  her 
brother's  ear :  *  I  left  her  there.  She's  in  such  a  temper ! 
You'll  see  what  a  face  she  pulls.' 

Then  the  wedding  party  had  to  wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
longer,  walking  about  the  wine-shop,  whilst  elbowed  and 
jostled  by  men  who  dropped  in  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  at 
the  bar.  Now  and  again,  Boche,  or  Madame  Fauconnier,  or 
Bibi-the- Smoker,  left  the  others,  and  went  to  the  edge  of  the 
pavement  to  look  up  at  the  sky.  The  storm  was  not  passing 
over  at  all;  darkness  was  coming  on,  and  puffs  of  wind, 
sweeping  along  the  ground,  raised  little  clouds  of  white  dust. 
At  the  first  clap  of  thunder  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross.  All  eyes  turned  anxiously  to  the  clock 
over  the  looking-glass  :  it  was  twenty  minutes  to  two. 

'  Go  it !  '  cried  Coupeau.     *  There  are  the  angels  weeping.' 

A  gush  of  rain  swept  the  pavement,  along  which  some 
women  flew,  holding  their  skirts  with  both  hands.  And  it 
was  m  the  midst  of  this  first  shower  that  Madame  Lorilleux 
at  length  arrived,  breathless,  infuriated,  and  struggling  on  the 
threshold  with  her  umbrella  which  would  not  close. 

*  Did  anyone  ever  see  such  a  thing  ?  '  she  stammered.  *  It 
eaught  me  just  at  the  door.  I  felt  inclined  to  go  upstairs  again, 


64  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

and  take  my  things  off.  It  would  have  been  the  best  thing  to 
do.  Ah  1  it's  a  pretty  wedding  !  I  said  how  it  would  be.  I 
wanted  to  put  it  off  till  next  Saturday  ;  and  it  rains  because 
they  wouldn't  listen  to  me  I  So  much  the  better,  so  much 
the  better !     I  wish  the  sky  would  burst !  ' 

Coupeau  tried  to  pacify  her.  But  she  sent  him  to  the 
right-about.  He  would  not  pay  for  her  dress  if  it  were  spoilt ! 
She  was  wearing  a  black  silk  dress,  in  which  she  was  nearly 
choking  ;  the  corsage,  far  too  tight,  was  straining  the  button- 
holes, and  cutting  her  across  the  shoulders ;  while  the  sheath- 
like skirt  so  pressed  against  her  hips  that  she  could  only  take 
the  shortest  of  steps  in  walking.  Nevertheless,  the  other  ladies 
of  the  party  looked  at  her,  pursing  their  lips  and  seemingly 
much  impressed  by  the  stylishness  of  her  costume.  She  did 
not  even  appear  to  see  Gervaise  seated  beside  Mother  Coupeau ; 
but  called  Lorilleux  and  asked  him  for  his  handkerchief; 
then,  going  into  a  corner  she  carefully  wiped  off,  one  by  one, 
the  drops  of  rain  which  had  fallen  on  the  silk. 

Meantime  the  shower  had  abruptly  ceased.  The  darkness 
increased,  it  was  almost  hke  night — a  livid  night,  rent  at  times 
by  broad  flashes  of  lightning.  Bibi- the- Smoker  said  laugh- 
ingly that  it  would  certainly  rain  priests.  Then  the  storm 
burst  forth  with  extreme  violence.  For  half  an  hour  the  rain 
came  down  by  the  bucketful,  and  the  thunder  rumbled  un- 
ceasingly. The  men  standing  at  the  door  contemplated  the 
grey  veil  of  the  downpour,  the  swollen  gutters  and  the  flying 
spray  which  arose  from  all  the  splashing  puddles.  The 
women,  however,  had  sat  down  again,  feeling  frightened,  and 
holding  their  hands  before  their  eyes.  They  no  longer 
chatted,  they  were  too  upset.  A  jest  which  Boche  made 
failed  to  raise  a  smile.  However,  when  the  thunder-claps 
became  less  frequent  and  gradually  died  away  in  the  distance, 
the  party  once  more  began  to  get  impatient,  enraged  against 
the  storm,  cursing  it  and  shaking  their  fists  at  the  clouds.  A 
fine  rain  now  poured  from  the  sky,  which  had  become  an  ashy 

grey- 

'It's  past  two  o'clock,'  cried  Madame  Lorilleux.  *We 
can't  stop  here  for  ever.' 

Then,  on  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou  suggesting  that  they 
might  go  into  the  country  all  the  same,  even  though  they 
went  no  farther  than  the  moat  of  the  fortifications,  the  others 
scouted  the  idea  ;  the  roads  would  be  in  a  nice  state,  one 
would  not  oven  be  able  to  sit  down  on  the  grass  ;  besides,  the 


THE    WEDDING  65 

storm  did  not  seem  to  be  all  over  yet,  there  might  be  another 
downpour.  Coupeau,  who  had  been  watching  a  workman, 
who  though  completely  soaked  was  quietly  walking  along  in 
the  rain,  murmured:  *If  that  animal  My-Boots  is  waiting 
for  us  on  the  Route  de  Saint-Denis,  he  certainly  won't  catch 
a  sunstroke.' 

This  made  some  of  them  laugh  ;  but  the  general  ill- 
humour  increased.  The  position  was  becoming  disgusting. 
They  must  decide  on  something.  They  could  not  possibly 
remain  staring  at  one  another  until  the  dinner  hour  arrived. 
Then,  for  a  while,  face  to  face  with  the  obstinate  shower,  they 
all  racked  their  brains  in  trying  to  think  of  something  to  do. 
Bibi-the- Smoker  proposed  a  game  at  cards  ;  Boche,  who  was 
of  a  sly  and  rather  wanton  nature,  knew  a  very  funny  little 
game,  that  of  playing  at  confessions ;  Madame  Gaudron 
talked  of  going  to  eat  some  onion  tart  at  a  place  she  knew  on 
the  Chaussee  Clignancourt ;  Madame  Lerat  would  have  pre- 
ferred story-telling  ;  Gaudron  was  not  a  bit  dull,  he  felt  very 
comfortable  there,  and  merely  offered  to  sit  down  to  dinner 
at  once.  And  they  all  wrangled  and  got  more  and  more 
angry  at  each  successive  proposal :  it  was  stupid,  it  would 
send  them  to  sleep,  they  would  be  taken  for  children.  Then, 
as  Lorilleux,  wishing  to  put  in  his  word,  suggested  something 
very  simple,  a  walk  along  the  outer  Boulevards  as  far  as 
Pere-Lachaise  cemetery,  where  they  might  go  to  see  the  tomb  of 
H^loise  and  Ab^lard,  if  there  were  time,  Madame  Lorilleux 
exploded,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  herself.  She  was  off, 
she  was !  That's  what  she  was  going  to  do !  Were  they 
trying  to  make  a  fool  of  her  ?  She  dressed  herself,  she  got 
wet  with  the  rain,  and  all  that  merely  to  stick  inside  a  wine- 
shop !  No,  no  !  she  had  had  enough  of  a  wedding  like  that, 
she  preferred  her  own  home.  Coupeau  and  Lorilleux  had  to 
bar  the  doorway  to  prevent  her  from  leaving ;  even  then  she 
continued  to  repeat :  *  Move  away  from  there  1  I  tell  you  that 
I'm  going  home  I ' 

At  last,  her  husband  having  succeeded  in  pacifying  her, 
Coupeau  went  up  to  Gervaise,  who  was  still  quietly  ensconced 
in  a  corner,  conversing  with  her  mother-in-law  and  Madame 
Fauconnier.     *  But  you  don't  suggest  anything  I '  said  he. 

*  Oh !  I'll  agree  to  anything  one  likes,'  she  replied,  with 
a  laugh.  *  I'm  easy  to  please.  Go  out,  or  stay  in,  it's  all  the 
same  to  me.  I'm  very  comfortable,  I  don't  ask  for  anything 
more.' 


66  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

And,  indeed,  her  face  was  beaming  with  a  quiet  joy. 
Ever  since  the  guests  had  been  there,  she  had  spoken  to  each 
in  a  somewhat  low  tremulous  voice  and  sensible  manner, 
taking  no  part  in  any  of  the  disputes.  During  the  storm,  she 
had  remained  with  fixed  eyes  watching  the  lightning,  aa 
though  she  beheld  some  serious  things  very  far  off  in  the 
future  by  the  aid  of  those  sudden  flashes. 

Hitherto,  however,  M.  Madinier  had  proposed  nothing. 
Leaning  against  the  bar,  with  the  tails  of  his  dress  coat 
thrust  apart,  he  retained  the  important  air  of  an  employer. 
For  some  minutes  he  expectorated  and  rolled  his  big  eyes 
about. 

*  Well,  dear  me  I '  said  he  at  last,  *  one  might  go  to  the 
Museum.'  Then  he  stroked  his  chin,  and  with  blinking  eyes 
consulted  the  other  members  of  the  party.  *  There  are 
antiquities,  pictures,  paintings,  a  whole  heap  of  things  there,* 
he  continued.  *It  is  very  instructive.  Perhaps  you  have 
never  been  ?  Oh  I  it  is  quite  worth  seeing,  at  least  once  in 
a  way.' 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  a  questioning  manner.  No, 
Gervaise  had  never  been  ;  nor  had  Madame  Fauconnier,  nor 
Boche,  nor  the  others.  Coupeau  thought  he  had  gone  up  one 
Sunday,  but  he  was  not  sure.  However,  they  were  still 
hesitating  when  Madame  Lorilleux,  greatly  impressed  by 
M.  Madinier' s  importance,  thought  the  suggestion  very  proper 
and  genteel.  As  they  were  wasting  the  day,  and  were  all 
dressed,  they  might  as  well  go  somewhere  for  their  instruc- 
tion. Every  one  approved.  And  then,  as  it  still  rained  a  little, 
they  borrowed  some  umbrellas  of  the  landlord  of  the  wine- 
shop, old  blue,  green,  and  brown  umbrellas,  forgotten  by 
different  customers,  and  started  off  to  the  Museum. 

Turning  to  the  right  the  wedding  party  descended  into 
Paris  by  way  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Denis.  Coupeau  and 
Gervaise  again  took  the  lead,  almost  running,  and  keeping  a 
good  distance  in  front  of  the  others.  M.  Madinier  now  gave 
his  arm  to  Madame  Lorilleux,  Mother  Coupeau  having  re- 
mained behind  in  the  wine- shop  on  account  of  her  weak  legs. 
Then  came  Lorilleux  and  Madame  Lerat,  Boche  and  Madame 
Fauconnier,  Bibi-the- Smoker,  and  Mademoiselle  Remanjou, 
and  finally  the  two  Gaudrons.  They  were  twelve,  all  told, 
and  made  a  pretty  long  procession  on  the  pavement. 

*  Oh  !  I  assure  you  we  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
it,'  explained  Madame  Lorilleux  to  M.  Madinier.     *  We  don't 


THE    WEDDING  67 

know  where  he  picked  her  up,  or  rather  we  know  only  too 
well ;  but  it's  not  for  us  to  say  anything,  is  it  ?  My  husband 
had  to  buy  the  wedding-ring.  This  morning,  before  we  were 
scarcely  out  of  bed,  we  were  obliged  to  lend  them  ten  francs, 
otherwise  there  would  have  been  nothing  done.  A  bride  who 
doesn't  bring  a  single  relation  to  her  wedding  1  Just  think 
of  it !  She  says  she  has  a  sister  in  Paris,  who  keeps  a 
pork-butcher's  shop.     Why  didn't  she  invite  her,  then  ?  ' 

Madame  Lorilleux  paused  to  point  at  Gervaise,  whom  the 
sloping  pavement  caused  to  limp  a  great  deal,  and  then 
added :  '  Just  look  at  her  !  Is  it  possible  ?  Oh  I  the 
hobbler  1 ' 

That  word,  *  Hobbler,*  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
Lorilleux  said,  with  a  sneer,  that  it  was  the  nickname 
which  they  ought  to  give  the  young  woman.  But  Madame 
Fauconnier  took  Gervaise's  part ;  they  did  wrong  to  make 
fun  of  her,  she  was  as  clean  as  a  newly-coined  sou,  and  a 
really  wonderful  worker. 

Emerging  at  last  from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Denis, 
the  wedding  party  crossed  the  Boulevard.  They  waited  a 
minute  to  let  the  crowd  of  vehicles  pass,  then  ventured  over 
the  roadway,  which  the  storm  had  transformed  into  a  pool  of 
liquid  mud.  Another  shower  was  coming  on,  so  they  opened 
the  umbrellas,  and,  beneath  the  dreadful  old  ginghams  held 
aloft  by  the  men,  the  woman  gathered  up  their  skirts,  and 
the  procession  spread  out  in  the  slush  from  one  foot-walk  to 
the  other.  Then  as  a  couple  of  street  urchins  called  out : 
'What  a  lot  of  guys! '  some  passers-by  hastened  to  look  at 
the  party,  while  several  shopmen  stood  up  behind  their  win- 
dows. Amidst  the  swarmmg  crowd,  against  the  grey  wet 
background  of  the  Boulevards,  the  several  couples  of  the 
procession  set  bright,  startling  patches  of  colour.  There  were 
Gervaise's  coarse  blue  dress,  Madame  Fauconnier' s  flowery 
cretonne,  and  Boche's  canary-yellow  trousers.  Then,  too, 
the  stiffness  common  to  persons  arrayed  in  their  Sunday  best 
imparted  a  most  ludicrous,  carnavalesque  air  to  Coupeau's 
shiny  frock-coat  and  M.  Madinier's  square  swallow-tails; 
whilst  the  elegant  costume  which  bedecked  Madame  Lorilleux, 
the  long  fringe  worn  by  Madame  Lerat,  and  Mademoiselle 
Kemanjou's  rumpled  skirt,  showed  Hke  a  mingling  of  various 
fashions,  a  draggling  series  of  the  *  reach-me-downs,'  which 
are  the  luxuries  of  the  poor.  But  it  was  especially  the 
gentlemen's  hats  which   amuied  the  crowd — old-fashioned 

r2 


68  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

hats  they  were,  that  had  been  carefully  put  by,  and  had 
become  tarnished  in  the  obscurity  of  cupboards  ;  all  of  them, 
moreover,  being  of  the  most  comical  shapes — tall,  broad, 
pointed,  with  extraordinary  brims,  either  sharply  turned  up 
or  quite  flat,  and  either  too  broad  or  too  .narrow.  And  the 
smiles  increased  still  more,  when  right  in  the  rear,  as  the 
crowning  feature  of  the  spectacle,  came  Madame  Gaudron, 
the  carder,  in  her  crude  violet  gown,  which  seemed  to  em- 
phasise the  rotundity  of  her  person.  The  wedding  guests, 
however,  did  not  hurry  themselves  ;  they  were  all  in  the 
best  of  humours,  happy  at  being  looked  at,  and  amused  by  the 
jocular  remarks  passed  upon  them. 

They  at  last  turned  into  the  Rue  de  Clery,  and  then 
took  the  Rue  du  Mail.  On  reaching  the  Place  des  Vic- 
toires,  there  was  a  halt.  The  bride's  left  shoe  lace  had 
come  undone,  and  as  she  tied  it  up  again,  at  the  foot  of 
the  statue  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  others  pressed  behind  her, 
waiting,  and  joking  about  the  bit  of  stocking  that  she  dis- 
played. At  length,  after  passing  down  the  Rue  Croix-des- 
Petits-Champs,  they  reached  the  Louvre. 

M.  Madinier  then  politely  asked  leave  to  guide  them.  It 
was  a  big  place,  and  they  might  lose  themselves ;  besides, 
he  knew  the  best  parts,  having  often  come  there  with  an 
artist,  a  very  intelligent  fellow,  from  whom  a  large  dealer 
bought  drawings  to  put  on  his  cardboard  boxes.  Down 
below,  when  the  wedding  party  entered  the  Assyrian  Museum, 
a  slight  shiver  passed  through  it.  The  deuce  !  this  was  not 
at  all  a  warm  place ;  it  would  have  made  a  capital  cellar. 
And  with  chins  raised  and  eyes  blinking  the  couples  slowly 
advanced  between  the  gigantic  stone  figures,  the  black  marble 
gods,  dumb  in  their  sacerdotal  rigidity,  and  the  monstrous 
beasts,  half  cats  and  half  women,  with  death-like  faces, 
attenuated  noses,  and  swollen  lips.  All  these  were  found 
very  ugly;  people  knew  how  to  carve  stone  a  great  deal 
better  nowadays.  Then  an  inscription  in  Phoenician  charac- 
ters amazed  the  visitors.  No  one  could  possibly  have  ever  read 
that  scrawl.  But  M.  Madinier,  who  had  already  reached  the 
first  landing  with  Madame  Lorilleux,  called  to  the  others, 
shouting  beneath  the  vaulted  ceiling  :  '  Come  along  1  They're 
nothing,  all  those  things  I  The  things  to  see  are  on  the  first 
floor !  ' 

The  severe  bareness  of  the  staircase  rendered  them  very 
grave.    The  presence  of  a  superb  attendant,  in  red  waistcoat 


THE    WEDDINQ  69 

and  gold-iaced  coat,  who  seemed  to  be  awaiting  them  on  the 
landing,  increased  their  emotion,  and  it  was  with  great  respect, 
and  treading  as  softly  as  possible,  that  they  entered  the 
French  Galleries. 

Then,  without  stopping,  their  eyes  busy  with  the  gilding 
of  the  frames,  they  passed  through  the  series  of  smaller 
rooms,  glancing,  as  they  went,  at  the  pictures,  which  were  far 
too  numerous  to  be  seen  aright.  It  would  have  been  necessary 
to  spend  an  hour  before  each,  if  they  had  wanted  to  under- 
stand it.  What  a  number  of  pictures,  they  reflected,  there  was 
no  end  to  them  !  They  must  be  worth  a  mint  of  money. 
Right  at  the  end,  however,  M.  Madinier  suddenly  ordered  a 
halt  opposite  the  *  Raft  of  the  Medusa,'  and  explained  the 
subject  to  them.  Deeply  impressed  and  motionless,  they  all 
remained  silent.  However,  when  they  started  off  again, 
Boche  expressed  the  general  feeling  by  saying  it  was  stunning. 

In  the  Apollo  Gallery  it  was  the  parquetry  flooring  which 
more  especially  astonished  the  party — a  gUttering  flooring 
which  v/as  as  clear  as  a  mirror,  and  reflected  the  legs  of  the 
seats.  Mademoiselle  Remanjou  kept  her  eyes  closed,  because 
she  could  not  help  thinking  that  she  was  walking  on  water. 
And  the  others  called  to  Madame  Gaudron  to  be  careful  how 
she  trod,  lest  she  should  have  a  fall  which  might  be  dan- 
gerous. Then  M.  Madinier  wanted  to  show  them  the  gild- 
ing and  paintings  of  the  ceiling  ;  but  it  strained  their  necks 
to  look  up  above  them,  and  besides  they  could  distinguish 
nothing.  However,  before  entering  the  Square  Saloon,  he 
pointed  to  a  window,  saying :  *  That's  the  balcony  from  which 
Charles  IX.  fired  on  the  people.' 

Meanwhile,  he  kept  his  eye  on  the  tail  of  the  procession  ; 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  Square  Saloon,  he  signalled  to  them  all 
to  stop.  In  a  low  murmur,  as  though  he  were  at  church, 
he  announced  that  only  masterpieces  were  hung  there.  Then 
they  went  round  the  gallery.  Gervaise  asked  to  have  Paul 
Veronese's  *  Marriage  of  Cana '  explained  to  her ;  it  was 
stupid,  said  she,  not  to  inscribe  the  subjects  of  the  pictures  on 
the  frames.  Coupeau,  for  his  part,  stopped  before  Leonardo's 
*  Gioconda,'  who,  in  his  opinion,  resembled  one  of  his  aunts  ; 
while  Boche  and  Bibi-the-Smoker,  after  chuckling  together, 
gazed  in  amazement  at  the  *  Antiope  '  of  Correggio.  And,  right 
at  the  end  of  the  room,  the  two  Gaudrons,  the  man  gaping  and 
the  woman  with  her  hands  folded  before  her,  remained  deeply 
moved,  quite  stupid,  in  fact,  in  front  of  Murillo's  '  Virgin,' 


70  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

When  they  had  gone  all  round  the  saloon,  M.  Madinier 
wished  them  to  begin  again,  saying  that  it  was  worth  while. 
He  was  very  attentive  to  Madame  Lorilleux,  on  account  of  her 
silk  dress ;  and  each  time  that  she  questioned  him,  he  an- 
swered her  gravely  and  with  superb  assurance.  As  she  showed 
an  interest  in  Titian's  so-called  Mistress,  whose  yellow  hair 
she  thought  resembled  her  own,  he  declared  that  the  portrait 
was  that  of  the  beautiful  Feroni^re,  a  mistress,  said  he,  of 
Henri  TV.,  about  whom  a  drama  had  been  written,  and  per- 
formed at  the  Ambigu  Theatre.^ 

Then  the  wedding  party  invaded  the  long  gallery  occupied 
by  the  Italian  and  Flemish  schools.  Here  were  more  and 
more  paintings — saints,  men  and  women,  with  faces  which 
none  of  the  company  could  understand,  landscapes  that  were 
all  black,  animals  which  had  turned  yellow,  a  medley  of 
people  and  things,  offering  violent  contrasts  of  colour  which 
began  to  give  the  visitors  severe  headaches.  M.  Madinier  no 
Longer  talked,  but  slowly  conducted  the  procession  onward,  the 
others  following  in  good  order,  with  distended  necks  and  up- 
cast eyes.  Centuries  of  art  passed  before  their  bewildered 
ignorance,  the  delicate  sharpness  of  the  primitive  masters, 
the  splendom-s  of  the  Venetians,  and  the  full,  rich  life  of  the 
Dutch  painters  with  its  fine  play  of  light.  However,  they  were 
most  interested  in  the  artists  who  were  busy  copying  the  pic- 
tures, painting  away  unconcernedly  with  their  easels  planted 
among  the  sightseers.  One  old  lady  who,  mounted  on  a  pair 
of  high  steps,  was  working  a  big  brush  over  the  softly-toned 
sky  of  a  huge  stretch  of  canvas,  particularly  impressed  them. 
Little  by  little,  however,  the  news  must  have  spread  that  a 
wedding  party  was  visiting  the  Louvre,  for  painters  hastened 
up  with  broad  grins  on  their  faces,  and  inquisitive  people 
installed  themselves  on  the  settees,  so  as  to  have  a  comfortable 
view  of  the  procession ;  whilst  the  attendants,  with  lips  com- 
pressed, sought  to  restrain  their  jests.  And  meantime  the 
members  of  the  wedding  party,  already  feeling  tired,   and 

'  The  point  of  this  may  escape  some  readers,  and  so  without  any 
desire  to  appear  pedantic,  a  few  words  of  explanation  may  be  offered. 
According  to  most  experts  Titian's  picture  really  represents  Laura  de' 
Diauti  and  her  lover,  afterwards  husband,  Alphonse  of  Ferrara.  *  La 
belle  F6roniere '  was  a  Madame  Le  Fdron,  wife  of  a  Paris  advocate 
of  that  name.  She  lived  in  the  time,  not  of  Henri  IV.,  but  of  Francis  L, 
whose  mistress  she  is  asserted  to  have  been  on  the  sole  authority  of 
some  tittle-tattle  which  M6zeray,  the  historian,  collected  and  published 
more  than  a  century  after  her  death. 


THE    WEDDING  71 

losing  all  feelings  of  respect,  dragged  their  hob-nail  shoes  along 
and  tapped  their  heels  on  the  sonorous  floors,  like  some 
bewildered,  tramping  drove  of  cattle  let  loose  amidst  those 
clean  and  quiet  galleries. 

If  M.  Madinier  remained  silent  it  was  because  he  wished 
to  give  the  others  a  surprise.  He  went  straight  to  Rubens* 
*  Kermesse  ;  '  but  still  he  said  nothing.  He  contented  himself 
with  directing  the  others'  attention  to  the  picture  by  a  glance. 
At  sight  of  it  the  ladies  uttered  faint  cries,  then  turned  away 
their  heads,  while  the  men  indulged  in  coarse  jokes. 

'Let  us  be  off,'  said  M.  Madinier,  delighted  with  his 
success.     *  There  is  nothing  more  to  see  here.* 

They  retraced  their  steps  again,  passing  through  the 
Square  Saloon  and  the  Apollo  Gallery.  Madame  Lerat 
and  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou  were  now  complaining  that  their 
legs  could  scarcely  carry  them.  But  the  cardboard-box 
manufacturer  wanted  to  show  Lorilleux  the  old  jewellery. 
It  was  close  by,  in  a  little  room  which  he  could  find  with  his 
eyes  shut.  However,  he  made  a  mistake  and  led  the  wedding 
party  astray  through  seven  or  eight  cold,  deserted  rooms,  where 
there  were  only  some  severe-looking  glass  cases,  containing 
innumerable  broken  pots  and  hideous  little  figures.  The 
party  shuddered,  and  was  beginning  to  feel  awfully  bored. 
Then,  as  it  was  seeking  a  means  of  egress,  it  came  plump 
upon  the  drawings,  whereupon  another  long  peregrination 
ensued.  Those  drawings  seemed  as  though  they  would  never 
end.  Gallery  followed  gallery  with  never  a  glimpse  of  any- 
thing at  all  amusing  ;  nothing  but  sheets  of  paper  pencilled 
all  over  and  hanging  under  glass  against  the  walls. 

At  last  M.  Madinier,  losing  his  head,  but  unwilling  to 
admit  that  he  did  not  know  his  way,  ascended  a  flight  of 
stairs,  making  the  wedding  party  climb  to  the  upper  floor. 
And  now  it  journeyed  through  the  Naval  Museum,  among 
models  of  instruments  and  cannons,  plans  in  relief,  and 
vessels  as  tiny  as  playthings.  A  long  distance  off,  after 
walking  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  it  came  upon  another 
staircase,  on  descending  which  it  once  more  found  itself  full 
among  the  drawings.  Then  despair  came  over  it,  and  it 
wandered  on  through  whatever  rooms  it  came  to,  each  couple 
following  the  other  in  the  rear  of  M.  Madinier,  who  mopped 
his  forehead  in  desperation,  furious  with  the  management, 
which  he  accused  of  having  changed  the  positions  of  the 
doors.      The    attendants    and    the   other    visitors,   full    of 


72  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

astonishment,  watched' the  party  pass.  In  less  than  twenty 
minutes  it  was  again  seen  in  the  Square  Saloon,  in  the 
French  Gallery,  and  then  among  the  glass  cases,  where 
slumber  the  little  Eastern  gods.  Never  again  would  it 
manage  to  get  out  of  the  Museum.  With  aching  legs, 
abandoning  itself  to  fate,  it  went  on  and  on,  making  no  end 
of  a  noise,  and  leaving  poor  Madame  Gaudron  a  long  way  in 
the  rear. 

*  Closing  time  1  closing  time  I  *  at  last  cried  the  attendants, 
in  their  loud  voices. 

And  the  wedding  party  was  nearly  shut  in.  An  attendant 
was  obliged  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  it,  and  conduct  it 
to  a  door.  Then,  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Louvre,  when  it 
had  recovered  its  umbrellas  from  the  cloak-room,  it  breathed 
again.  M.  Madinier,  moreover,  regained  his  assurance.  He 
had  made  a  mistake  in  not  turning  to  the  left ;  he  now  recol- 
lected that  the  jewellery  was  to  the  left.  The  whole  party 
pretended  to  be  very  pleased  at  having  seen  all  they  had. 

Four  o'clock  was  striking.  There  were  still  two  hours  to 
be  employed  before  dinner  time,  so  it  was  decided  that  they 
should  take  a  stroll  just  to  fill  up  the  interval.  The  ladies, 
who  were  very  tired,  would  have  much  preferred  to  have  sat 
down  ;  but,  as  no  one  offered  any  refreshments,  they  started 
off,  following  the  line  of  quays.  Here  they  encountered 
another  shower,  and  so  sharp  a  one  that,  in  spite  of  the  um- 
brellas, the  ladies'  dresses  got  wet.  Madame  Lorilleux,  her 
heart  sinking  within  her  each  time  that  a  drop  fell  upon  her 
black  silk,  proposed  that  they  should  shelter  themselves  under 
the  Pont-Royal ;  ^  besides,  if  the  others  did  not  accompany 
her,  she  threatened  to  go  all  by  herself.  So  the  company 
installed  themselves  under  one  of  the  arches  of  the  bridge. 
They  were  very  comfortable  there.  It  was,  indeed,  a  capital 
idea  !  The  ladies,  after  spreading  their  handkerchiefs  over  the 
paving-stones,  sat  down  and  pulled  out  the  blades  of  grass 
which  had  sprouted  between  the  stones,  or  else  watched  the 
dark  water  flow  by  as  though  they  were  in  the  country.  The 
men  meantime  amused  themselves  by  shouting,  so  as  to 
awaken  the  echoes  of  the  arch.  One  after  the  other,  Boche 
and  Bibi- the- Smoker  addressed  insults  to  space,  calling  *  Pig  I  * 
with  all  the  strength  of  their  lungs,  and  laughing  heartily 
when  the  echo  sent  the  word  back  to  them.    Then,  on  their 

*  Boyal  Bridge. 


THE    WEDDING  73 

throats  getting  husky,  they  picked  up  some  flat  stones,  and 
tried  to  make  ducks  and  drakes  of  them  in  the  water. 

The  shower  had  ceased,  but  the  party  felt  so  comfortable 
that  nobody  thought  of  moving  away.  The  surface  of  the 
Seine  was  covered  with  greasy  matter,  oldi  corks  and  vegetable 
parings,  heaps  of  filth  which  an  eddy  detained  for  a  moment 
in  the  restless  waters,  darkened  by  the  shadow  of  the  arch  ; 
whilst  from  the  bridge  above  came  the  rumbling  of  passing 
cabs  and  omnibuses,  all  the  trafBc  of  Paris,  of  which  merely 
the  house  roofs  to  the  right  and  left  could  be  seen,  as  though 
from  the  bottom  of  a  pit.  Mademoiselle  Remanjou  sighed. 
If  there  had  only  been  some  foUage,  said  she,  the  spot  would 
have  reminded  her  of  a  nook  on  the  banks  of  the  Marne, 
whither  she  had  often  gone,  about  the  year  1817,  with  a 
young  man  for  whom  she  was  still  mourning. 

At  last,  however,  M.  Madinier  gave  the  signal  for 
departure.  They  passed  through  the  Tuileries  gardens, 
amidst  a  little  community  of  children,  whose  hoops  and  balls 
upset  the  good  order  of  the  procession.  Then,  on  reaching 
the  Place  Vend6me,  everyone  looked  up  at  the  column. 
M.  Madinier  gallantly  offered  to  treat  the  ladies  to  a  view 
from  the  summit.  His  suggestion  was  considered  extremely 
amusing.  Yes,  yes,  they  would  go  up ;  it  would  give  them 
something  to  laugh  about  for  a  long  time.  Besides,  the 
excursion  was  full  of  interest  for  those  who  had  never  risked 
themselves  above  their  mother  earth. 

'You  make  a  mistake  if  you  think  the  Hobbler  will 
venture  inside  there  with  her  leg  all  out  of  place  1 '  murmured 
Madame  Lorilleux. 

*  For  my  own  part  I'll  go  up  with  pleasure,'  said  Madame 
Lerat,  '  but  I  won't  have  any  men  walking  behind  me.' 

However,  the  whole  party  ascended,  crawling  all  twelve, 
one  after  the  other,  up  the  narrow  spiral  staircase,  now 
stumbling  against  the  worn  steps,  and  now  clinging  to  the 
walls.  Then,  when  the  obscurity  became  complete,  they 
almost  split  their  sides  with  laughter.  The  ladies  screamed, 
for  some  of  the  gentlemen  pinched  them  ;  but  it  was  all  mere 
joking,  for  they  were  duly  observant  of  the  proprieties.  After- 
wards, Boche,  who  was  in  quite  a  merry  mood,  declared  that 
they  were  growing  old  in  that  chimney-pot.  Would  it  never 
come  to  an  end,  were  they  going  right  up  to  heaven  ?  he 
inquired.  And  he  tried  to  frighten  the  ladies,  by  asserting 
that  he  could  feel  the  column  shaking.     Coupeau,  however, 


74  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

said  nothing.  He  was  behind  Gervaise,  with  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  and  when  they  suddenly  emerged  into  daylight,  he 
was  just  in  the  act  of  kissing  her  on  the  neck. 

'  Well !  you're  a  nice  couple ;  you  don't  stand  on  ceremony,* 
said  Madame  Lorilleux  with  a  scandalised  air. 

Bibi-the- Smoker  pretended  to  be  furious,  and  muttered 
between  his  teeth,  *  You  made  such  a  noise  over  it  that  I 
wasn't  even  able  to  count  the  steps.' 

But  M.  Madinier  was  already  pointing  out  the  different 
monuments  from  the  platform ;  though  neither  Madame 
Fauconnier  nor  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou  would  on  any  con- 
sideration leave  the  staircase.  The  thought  of  the  pavement 
below  made  their  blood  curdle,  and  they  contented  themselves 
with  glancing  out  of  the  little  door.  Madame  Lerat,  who 
was  bolder,  went  round  the  narrow  terrace,  keeping  close  to 
the  bronze  dome  ;  but,  all  the  same,  it  gave  one  a  rude  shock 
to  think  that  one  only  had  to  slip  off.  What  a  somersault, 
ye  gods  !  The  men,  rather  pale,  looked  down  at  the  square. 
One  could  almost  think  oneself  up  in  the  air,  separated  from 
everything.  Really  now  it  gave  one  a  chill  down  the  back. 
M.  Madinier,  however,  recommended  the  others  to  raise  their 
eyes  and  look  straight  in  front  of  them,  far  into  the  distance ; 
for  this  prevented  giddiness.  And  with  his  finger  he  continued 
to  point  out  the  Invalides,  the  Pantheon,  Notre-Dame,  the 
Tower  of  Saint-Jacques  and  the  heights  of  Montmartre. 
Then  it  occurred  to  Madame  Lorilleux  to  inquire  whether 
one  could  see  the  wine- shop  where  they  were  going  to  dine, 
the  *  Silver  Windmill,'  on  the  Boulevard  de  la  Chapelle.  So, 
for  ten  minutes,  they  looked  about,  and  even  came  to 
quarrelling ;  each  one  placing  the  wine-shop  in  a  different 
spot.  Paris  meantime  spread  around  them  her  grey  immen- 
sity and  bluish  environs,  her  deep  valleys  whence  surged  a 
sea  of  roofs.  The  whole  right  bank  of  the  river  lay  in 
shadow,  beneath  a  vast,  ragged,  copper-coloured  cloud  ;  from 
the  gold-fringed  border  of  which  flashed  a  broad  sunbeam, 
which  illumined  the  thousands  of  window-panes  on  the  left 
bank  with  a  multitude  of  glittering  sparks,  thus  throwing 
that  part  of  the  city  into  bright  relief  against  a  clear  blue  sky 
cleansed  by  the  storm. 

*  Well,  it  really  wasn't  worth  while  coming  up  here  to  bite 
one  another's  noses  off,'  said  Boche,  angrily,  referring  to  the 
dispute  about  the  position  of  the  *  Silver  Windmill,'  as  be 
turned  to  descend  the  staircase. 


THE    WEDDING  75 

The  wedding  party  went  down,  dumb  and  sulky,  raising 
no  other  sound  beyond  that  of  its  shoes  clanking  on  the  stone 
steps.  When  it  reached  the  bottom,  M.  Madinier  wished  to 
pay ;  but  Coupeau  would  not  permit  him,  and  hastened  to  place 
four  and  twenty  sous — two  for  each  person — in  the  keeper's 
hand.  It  was  now  nearly  half-past  five ;  ther3  was  just  time 
to  get  back  ;  so  they  retraced  their  steps  by  way  of  the  Boule- 
vards and  the  Faubourg  Poissonniere.  Coupeau,  however, 
considered  that  the  outing  could  not  end  like  that.  He 
suddenly  bundled  them  all  into  a  wine-shop,  and  there  they 
took  some  vermouth. 

The  repast  had  been  ordered  for  six  o'clock,  and  when 
they  reached  the  *  Silver  Windmill,'  they  were  a  good  twenty 
minutes  late.  Madame  Boche,  who  had  arranged  with  a  lady 
living  in  the  same  house  to  attend  to  her  duties  for  the  evening, 
was  conversing  with  Mother  Coupeau  in  the  first  floor  room, 
in  front  of  the  table,  which  was  already  laid ;  and  the  two 
youngsters,  Claude  and  JEtienne,  whom  she  had  brought  with 
her,  were  playing  about  beneath  the  table  and  among  the 
chairs.  When  Gervaise,  on  entering,  caught  sight  of  the 
little  ones,  whom  she  had  not  seen  all  day,  she  took  them  on 
her  knees,  and  caressed  and  kissed  them. 

*  Have  they  been  good  ?  '  she  inquired  of  Madame  Boche. 
*  I  hope  they  haven't  worried  you  too  much.*  Then  as  the 
door-keeper  related  some  of  the  funny  things  that  the  little 
rascals  had  said  during  the  afternoon,  the  mother  again  took 
them  up  and  pressed  them  to  her  bosom  in  an  outburst  of 
maternal  affection. 

*  All  the  same,  it's  not  very  pleasant  for  Coupeau,*  Madame 
Lorilleux  was  saying  just  then  to  the  other  ladies,  at  the  end 
of  the  room. 

Gervaise  had  retained  much  of  her  smiling  tranquillity  of 
the  morning.  Still,  ever  since  the  walk,  moments  of  sadness 
had  fallen  on  her,  and  she  watched  her  husband  and  the 
Lorilleux  with  a  pensive  air.  She  considered  that  Coupeau 
behaved  like  a  coward  in  his  sister's  presence.  Only  the  day 
before  he  had  talked  very  big,  and  sworn  that  he  would  put 
those  vipers,  the  Lorilleux,  in  their  places,  if  they  did  not 
treat  him  properly.  But  she  well  saw  that  when  he  was 
brought  face  to  face  with  them,  he  became  as  obedient  as  a  dog, 
deferring  to  them  in  everything,  and  getting  terribly  nervous 
whenever  he  thought  them  angry.  And  this  gave  the  young 
woman  some  anxiety  for  the  future. 


76  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

However,  they  were  now  only  waiting  for  My-Boots,  who 
had  not  yet  put  in  an  appearance. 

'  Oh !  blow  him  ! '  cried  Coupeau  at  last,  *  let's  begin. 
He'll  soon  turn  up,  you'll  see  ;  he's  got  a  good  nose,  and  can 
scent  the  grub  from  afar.  But,  I  say,  he  must  be  enjoying 
himself,  if  he's  still  standing  like  a  post  on  the  Route  de 
Saint-Denis  1  ' 

Thereupon  the  wedding  party,  feeling  very  lively,  sat 
down  amidst  a  great  clatter  of  chairs.  Gervaise  was  placed 
between  Lorilleux  and  M.  Madinier,  and  Coupeau  between 
Madame  Fauconnier  and  Madame  Lorilleux.  The  other 
guests  seated  themselves  where  they  liked,  because  things 
always  ended  with  jealousy  and  quarrelling  when  places  were 
determined  for  them.  Boche  glided  to  a  chair  beside  Madame 
Lerat,  while  Bibi- the- Smoker  had  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou 
and  Madame  Gaudron  for  his  neighbours.  As  for  Madame 
Boche  and  Mother  Coupeau,  they  sat  right  at  the  end  of  the 
table,  looking  after  the  children,  cutting  up  their  meat,  and 
giving  them  something  to  drink,  though  not  much  wine. 

*  Does  nebody  say  grace  ?  '  asked  Boche,  whilst  the  ladies 
arranged  their  skirts  under  the  table-  cloth,  for  fear  of  getting 
them  stained. 

But  Madame  Lorilleux  did  not  like  jokes  of  that  kind. 
And  forthwith  the  vermicelli  soup,  which  was  nearly  cold, 
was  gulped  down  very  quickly,  amidst  a  kind  of  hissing  sound 
made  by  the  lips  of  the  company,  as  they  inserted  their  spoons 
in  their  mouths.  Two  waiters  served  at  table,  dressed  in  short 
greasy  jackets,  and  aprons  of  indifferent  whiteness.  Through 
the  four  open  windows  overlooking  the  acacias  of  the  courtyard 
came  the  clear  light  of  the  close  of  a  stormy  day,  the  atmo- 
sphere of  which,  though  purified,  remained  warm.  The  trees 
in  that  damp  nook  imparted  a  greenish  hue  to  the  smoke-soiled 
room,  the  shadows  of  their  leaves  dancing  over  the  table-cloth, 
which  had  a  vague,  musty  odour.  Two  looking-glasses,  one 
at  either  end  of  the  apartment,  and  both  covered  with  fly 
marks,  lent  a  semblance  of  inordinate  length  to  the  table,  which 
was  covered  with  coarse,  white  crockery  full  of  scratches,  in 
which  greasy  dish  water  had  left  a  dark  deposit.  And  each 
time  that  a  waiter  returned  from  the  kitchen,  the  door  swung 
to  and  fro,  admitting  a  strong  smell  of  burning  fat. 

*  Don't  let  us  all  talk  at  once,'  said  Boche,  as  everybody 
remained  silent  over  their  plates. 

Then  they  were  drinking  their  first  glass  of  wine  whilst 


THE    WEDDING  77 

watching  two  force-meat  pies  carried  by  the  waiters,  when 
My-Boots  entered  the  room. 

*  Well,  you're  a  scurvy  lot,  you  people  ! '  he  cried,  *  I've 
been  wearing  my  pins  out  for  three  hours  on  the  high  road, 
and  a  gendarme  even  came  and  asked  me  for  my  papers  I  It 
isn't  fair  to  play  such  dirty  tricks  on  a  friend !  You  might 
at  least  have  sent  me  a  growler  by  a  commissionaire.  But 
joking  apart,  you  know,  it  was  really  too  bad.  Why,  it  rained 
so  hard  that  I  got  my  pockets  full  of  water.  Honour  bright, 
you  might  still  catch  enough  fish  in  'em  for  a  meal.' 

The  others  wriggled  with  laughter.  That  animal  My- 
Boots  was  *  a  bit  on ' ;  he  had  certainly  stowed  away  two 
quarts  of  wine  already,  merely  to  keep  off  the  effects  of  all 
that  frog's  liquor  with  which  the  storm  had  deluged  him. 

'Hallo!  Count  Leg-of-Mutton  ! '  said  Coupeau,  'just  go 
and  sit  yourself  there,  beside  Madame  Gaudron.  You  see 
you  were  expected.' 

Thereupon  My-Boots  responded  that  he  didn't  mind;  he 
.  would  soon  catch  up  the  others  ;  and  he  successively  asked 
for  three  helps  of  soup,  platefuls  of  vermicelli,  in  which  he 
soaked  enormous  slices  of  bread.  Afterwards,  when  they 
had  attacked  the  force-meat  pies,  he  became  the  object  of 
profound  and  universal  admiration.  How  he  guttled  !  The 
bewildered  waiters  helped  each  other  to  pass  him  bread,  thin 
slices  which  he  swallowed  at  a  mouthful.  And  he  ended  by 
losing  his  temper  ;  and  insisted  upon  having  a  loaf  placed  on 
the  table  beside  him.  At  this  the  landlord,  very  anxious, 
came  to  peep  in  at  the  door,  whereupon  the  others,  who  had 
been  expecting  him,  again  wriggled  with  laughter.  The 
appetite  of  the  new-comer  seemed  to  upset  the  caterer.  What 
a  rum  card  he  was,  that  My-Boots  1  Hadn't  he  one  day 
eaten  a  dozen  hard  boiled  eggs  and  drunk  a  dozen  glasses  of 
wine  while  the  clock  was  striking  twelve  ?  There  were  not 
many  who  could  do  that,  "^^lademoiselle  Eemanjou,  deeply 
moved  by  the  story,  watched  My-Boots  chew,  whilst  M. 
Madinier,  seeking  for  a  word  to  express  his  almost  respectful 
astonishment,  declared  that  such  capacity  was  extraordinary. 

There  came  a  brief  silence.  But  when  a  waiter  placed  on 
the  table  a  rabbit  stew,  in  a  large  dish  as  deep  as  a  salad- 
bowl,  Coupeau,  who  liked  fun,  started  another  joke :  *  I  say, 
waiter,  that  rabbit's  from  the  housetops.  Why  it  still 
mews.' 

And  in  fact,  a  faint  mew,  perfectly  imitated,  seemed  to 


78  THE  DRAM'SHOP 

proceed  from  the  dish.  It  was  Coupeau  who  produced  the 
sound  with  his  throat,  and  without  moving  his  lips  :  a  society 
accomplishment  from  which  he  derived  such  certain  success, 
that  he  never  ordered  a  dinner  at  a  restaurant  without  having 
a  rabbit  stew.  And  after  mewing,  he  purred.  The  ladies 
pressed  their  napkins  to  their  mouths  to  stop  their  laughter. 
Then  Madame  Fauconnier  asked  for  a  head,  for  she  only  liked 
heads,  whereas  Mademoiselle  Remanjou  had  a  w^eakness  for 
the  strips  of  bacon.  Then,  as  Boche  said  he  preferred  the 
little  onions  when  they  were  nicely  browned,  Madame  Lerat 
screwed  up  her  lips  and  murmured:  *I  can  understand 
that.' 

She  was  as  dry  as  a  stick,  and  led  the  life  of  a  hard 
working  woman  immured  in  her  avocation.  Nothing  in  her 
conduct  since  she  had  lost  her  husband  had  ever  furnished 
the  slightest  pretext  for  scandal :  and  yet  she  was  always 
indulging  in  peculiar  remarks,  afflicted  with  a  mania  for 
words  of  double  meaning  and  questionable  allusions,  w^hich 
were  so  deep,  so  wrapt  up,  that  she  alone  could  understand 
them. 

However,  the  conversation  was  becoming  grave.  Each 
member  of  the  party  was  talking  of  his  or  her  trade.  M. 
Madinier  was  extolling  the  manufacture  of  cardboard  boxes  ; 
there  were  real  artists  employed  in  the  line ;  and  he 
mentioned  some  boxes  for  New  Year's  gifts,  sweetmeats,  and 
so  forth,  of  which  he  had  seen  the  models, — perfect  marvels 
of  luxury.  Lorilleux,  however,  chuckled.  He  was  very  vain 
of  working  gold,  and  ever  saw  a  reflection  of  the  precious 
metal  on  his  fingers,  indeed  all  over  his  person.  He  said  that 
in  olden  times  jewellers  had  worn  swords  ;  and,  in  proof 
thereof,  he  ignorantly  cited  Bernard  Palissy.  Coupeau,  for 
his  part,  talked  of  a  weather-cock,  a  work  of  art  that  one  of 
his  comrades  had  made ;  it  consisted  of  a  column,  above 
which  came  a  sheaf,  then  a  basket  of  fruit,  and  then  a  flag  ; 
the  whole  looking  very  natural,  he  declared,  and  made  solely 
of  pieces  of  zinc  soldered  together.  Then  Madame  Lerat 
turned  the  handle  of  her  knife  between  her  bony  fingers  to 
show  Bibi-the- Smoker  how  she  made  the  stalk  of  an  artificial 
rose.  Voices  rose  and  mingled,  but  amidst  the  hubbub  one 
distinctly  detected  some  high-pitched  words  spoken  by 
Madame  Fauconnier,  who  was  complaining  of  her  work-girls, 
especially  of  a  little  slattern  of  an  apprentice,  who  only  the 
day  before  had  let  a  pair  of  sheets  burn. 


THE    WEDDING  79 

*You  may  talk  as  much  as  you  like,'  suddenly  cried 
Lorilleux,  banging  his  fist  down  on  the  table,  *  but  gold  is 
gold.' 

And,  amidst  the  hush  caused  by  the  enunciation  of  this 
truism,  Mademoiselle  Remanjou's  shrill  voice  alone  was  heard 
continuing : 

*  Then  I  turn  up  the  skirt  and  stitch  it  inside.  I  stick  a 
pin  in  the  head  to  keep  the  cap  on,  and  then  it's  done,  and 
they  are  sold  for  thirteen  sous  a  piece.' 

She  was  explaining  how  she  dressed  her  dolls  to  My- 
Boots,  whose  jaws  were  working  slowly  and  heavily  like 
grindstones.  Though  he  kept  on  nodding  his  head,  he  did 
not  listen,  but  looked  after  the  waiters  to  prevent  them  from 
removing  any  of  the  dishes  which  he  had  not  cleaned  out. 
Since  the  rabbit  there  had  been  some  larded  veal  and  French 
beans  ;  and  now  they  were  serving  the  roast,  two  skinny 
chickens  lying  on  a  bed  of  watercresses  faded  and  scorched  by 
the  heat  of  the  oven.  Outside,  the  sun  was  setting  behind 
the  high  branches  of  the  acacias,  while  in  the  room  the 
greenish  reflection  had  been  thickened  by  the  fumes  that  rose 
from  the  table,  which  was  stained  with  wane  and  gravy,  and 
covered  with  a  pell-mell  of  crockery,  glasses,  knives  and  forks. 
And  along  the  wall,  a  number  of  dirty  plates  and  empty 
bottles,  deposited  there  by  the  waiters,  looked  liked  so  much 
rubbish  swept  or  shaken  from  the  cloth.  It  was  very  warm, 
so  the  men  took  off  their  coats  and  continued  eating  in  their 
shirfc-sleeves. 

'  Please,  Madame  Boche,  don't  stuff  them  so  much,'  said 
Gervaise,  who  spoke  but  little,  and  watched  Claude  and 
Etienne  from  a  distance. 

She  got  up  from  her  seat,  and  standing  behind  the  little 
ones'  chairs,  talked  for  a  moment  with  the  others.  Children 
did  not  reason  ;  they  would  eat  all  day  long  without  refusing 
a  single  thing.  Then  she  herself  helped  them  to  some 
chicken,  just  a  little  of  the  breast.  But  Mother  Coupeau 
said  that  they  might  well  risk  an  attack  of  indigestion  just 
for  once  in  a  way.  However,  Madame  Boche,  instead  of 
following  up  the  subject,  began  to  accuse  her  husband  of 
flirting  with  Madame  Lerat.  He  was  a  sly  dog,  and  by  no 
means  faithful.  But  if  he  didn't  behave  himself,  she  wouldn't 
hesitate  to  shy  a  water-bottle  at  his  head. 

In  the  comparative  silence  which  had  fallen,  M.  Madiniex 
was  now  talking  politics.     *  Their  law  of  May  31  is  abomin- 


8o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

able/  said  he.  *  In  order  to  vote  you  must  now  reside  in  a 
place  for  two  years.  Three  millions  of  citizens  are  struck  off 
the  lists.  I've  been  told  that  Bonaparte  is  really  much 
annoyed  at  it,  for  he  is  attached  to  the  people,  and  has  proved 
it.' 

Madinier  was  a  Republican :  but  he  admired  the  prince  on 
account  of  his  uncle,  the  great  conqueror,  the  like  of  whom 
would  never  be  seen  again.  However,  Bibi-the- Smoker  flew 
into  a  passion.  He  had  worked  at  the  Elysee,  and  had  seen 
Bonaparte  just  as  he  now  saw  My-Boots  in  front  of  him. 
Well,  that  muff  of  a  president  looked  just  like  a  police  spy. 
It  was  said  that  he  was  going  on  a  journey  in  the  direction 
of  Lyons ;  it  would  be  a  precious  good  riddance  should  he 
fall  into  some  hole  and  break  his  neck. 

Then  as  the  discussion  was  becoming  heated,  Coupeau 
had  to  interfere.  '  How  simple  you  all  are  to  quarrel  about 
politics,'  said  he.  *  They  are  all  humbug !  Do  such  things 
exist  for  us  ?  Let  them  stick  up  whatever  they  Hke  ;  a  king, 
an  emperor,  or  nothing  at  all,  it  won't  prevent  me  from 
earning  my  five  francs  a  day,  and  eating,  and  sleeping. 
Isn't  that  so  ?    No,  it's  too  stupid !  * 

But  Lorilleux  was  wagging  his  head.  He  had  been  born 
on  the  same  day  as  the  Count  de  Chambord,  September  29, 
1820,  and  was  greatly  struck  with  this  coincidence,  indulging 
in  a  vague  dream,  in  whioh  he  established  a  mysterious 
connection  between  the  king's  return  to  France  and  his  own 
private  fortunes.  He  never  said  exactly  what  he  expected, 
but  led  people  to  suppose  that  when  that  time  should  arrive 
something  wonderfully  pleasant  would  happen  to  himself.  So 
whenever  he  had  a  wish  too  great  to  be  gratified,  he  would 
put  it  off  to  the  time  when  the  king  would  come  back 
again. 

'  Besides,*  he  remarked,  *  I  saw  the  Count  de  Chambord 
one  evening.'  And  then,  as  every  face  was  turned  towards 
him,  he  continued :  *  Oh  I  it's  quite  true.  A  stout  man,  in 
an  overcoat,  and  with  a  good-natured  air.  I  was  at 
Pequignot's,  one  of  my  friends  who  deals  in  furniture  in  the 
Grande  Rue  de  la  Chapelle.  The  Count  de  Chambord  had 
forgotten  his  umbrella  there  the  day  before  ;  so  he  came  in, 
and  simply  said,  like  this :  "  Will  you  please  return  me  my 
umbrella?"  Mon  Dieul  yes,  it  was  the  Count;  P^quignot 
gave  me  his  word  of  honour  it  was.' 

None  of  the  guests  suggested  the  faintest  doubt.    They 

r  ^"' " 


THE    WEDDING  8i 

had  now  reached  the  dessert.  The  waiters  were  clearing  the 
table  with  a  great  clattering  of  crockery;  and  Madame 
Lorilleux,  who  until  then  had  behaved  in  a  most  lady-like 
manner,  allowed  an  exclamation  of  *  dirty  beast '  to  escape 
her,  as  one  of  the  waiters,  in  removing  a  dish,  sent  something 
trickling  down  her  neck.  Her  silk  dress  was  most  certainly 
stained,  said  she,  and  M.  Madinier  had  to  look  at  her  back. 
However,  he  declared  that  there  was  nothing  the  matter. 

In  the  middle  of  the  table  there  now  stood  a  salad-bowl 
full  of  frosted  eggs,  flanked  by  two  plates  of  cheese  and  two 
of  fruit.  The  frosted  eggs,  with  their  whites  over-cooked  and 
floating  on  the  yellow  cream,  quite  impressed  the  company ; 
they  had  not  been  anticipated,  and  were  looked  upon  as  some- 
thing out  of  the  common.  However,  My-Boots  was  still 
eating.  After  asking  for  another  loaf,  he  finished  what  the 
others  left  of  the  cheese  ;  and  then,  as  there  remained  some 
cream,  he  had  the  salad-bowl  passed  to  him,  and  sliced  some 
large  pieces  of  bread  in  it  as  though  for  a  soup. 

*  That  gentleman  is  really  remarkable,'  said  M.  Madinier, 
again  steeped  in  admiration. 

Thereupon  the  men  rose  up  to  get  their  pipes.  They 
remained  for  a  moment  behind  My-Boots,  patting  him  on  the 
back,  and  asking  him  if  he  felt  better.  Bibi-the- Smoker 
hfted  him  up  in  his  chair ;  but,  dash  it  s^U !  th^  brute  had 
doubled  in  weight.  Coupeau,  by  way  of  a  joke,  said  that  his 
comrade  was  only  just  settling  dowii  to  work,  and  would  go 
on  eating  like  that  all  through  the  night.  The  terrified 
waiters  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  Bcche,  who  had  just  before 
gone  downstairs,  came  back  relating  what  an  awful  face  the 
landlord  was  making  over  it :  he  was  looking  as  pde  as  death 
behind  his  bar  ;  and  his  wife,  in  a  dtate  of  consternation,  had 
sent  out  to  see  if  the  bakers'  were  still  open.  Even  the  house- 
hold cat  looked  as  though  ruin  was  staring  it  in  the  face.  It 
was  all  really  too  comical  and  well  worth  the  money  cf  the 
dinner  ;  no  pic-nic  of  that  sort  would  be  complete  without  that 
swallow-aU,  My-Boots.  While  smoking  their  pipew^  LlTiT  uo^o.,^ 
watched  him  with  jealous  looks  ;  for,  after  all,  t^Je  ^1)14  K^feat  '^n. 
BO  much,  he  must  be  a  precious  strong  f ell^wWv ^^**-**v^^  ^ 

By  this  time  it  was  pitch  dark  outsidef  a^ja  tjrfee  gas-je^  ^^ 
were  flaring  in  the  room,  diffusing  patch^  ^  lightra^idst  all  \  V 
the  tobacco-smoke.  The  waiters,  after  slrvin/tlie' coffee  and  \  ' 
the  brandy,  had  removed  the  last  piles  ofldiT.t}|platfeS'.  Down  |  \ 
below,  beneath  the  three  acacias,  dancing -^  jjust  beginning.    / 


82  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

A  cornet- ^-piston  and  a  couple  of  fiddles  could  be  heard  play- 
ing very  loudly,  while  women  laughed  hoarsely  in  the  warm 
night  air. 

'  We  must  have  some  punch  1  *  suddenly  cried  My-Boots  ; 
'two  quarts  of  brandy,  lots  of  lemon,  and  just  a  little  sugar.' 

But  Coupeau,  on  seeing  the  anxious  look  on  Gervaise's 
face,  arose,  declaring  that  there  should  be  no  more  drink. 
They  had  emptied  twenty-five  quarts,  a  quart  and  a  half 
apiece,  counting  the  children  as  grown-up  people ;  and  that 
was  already  ample.  They  had  had  a  feed  together  in  good 
fellowship,  and  without  ceremony,  because  they  esteemed  one 
another,  and  wished  to  celebrate  the  event  of  the  day.  All  had 
gone  off  very  pleasantly.  They  were  gay,  and  must  not  treat 
the  ladies  disrespectfully  by  getting  drunk.  In  a  word,  and  to 
sum  up  everything,  they  had  just  met  together  to  toast  that 
day's  splicing,  and  not  to  fuddle  themselves.  This  little  speech, 
forcibly  delivered  by  the  zinc-worker,  who  placed  his  hand  on 
his  breast  at  the  end  of  each  successive  sentence,  met  with  the 
warm  approval  of  Lorilleux  and  M.  Madinier.  But  the  others 
— Boche,  Gaudron,  Bibi-the- Smoker,  and  especially  My- 
Boots,  all  four  of  whom  were  considerably  elevated — only 
jeered  in  husky  tones,  experiencing  as  they  did  a  dreadful 
thirst,  which  they  felt  they  must  quench  at  any  cost. 

*  Those  who're  thirsty  are  thirsty,  and  those  who  aren't 
thirsty  aren't  thirsty,'  remarked  My-Boots  sententiously. 
*  Therefore,  we'll  order  the  punch.  No  one  need  take  offence. 
The  aristocrats  can  drink  sugar-and- water.'  And  as  the  zinc- 
worker  began  another  sermon,  the  other,  who  had  risen  to  his 
feet,  gave  himself  a  slap,  exclaiming  :  *  Come,  let's  have  no 
more  of  that,  ^  oungster  I  Waiter,  two  quarts  of  the  genuine 
old  stuff  1' 

Thereupon  Coupeau  said  that  My-Boots  might  do  as  he  liked, 
only  they  would  settle  for  the  dinner  at  once.  It  would  pre- 
vent any  disputes.  The  well-behaved  people  did  not  want  to 
pay  for  the  topers.  And  it  so  happened  that  My-Boots,  after 
searching  his  pockets  fcr  a  long  time,  could  only  produce  three 
francs  and  seven  sous.  But  then  why  had  they  made  him 
wait  all  that  time  on  the  Eoute  de  Saint-Denis  ?  He  could 
not  let  himself  be  drowned,  and  so  he  had  broken  into  his  five- 
franc  piece.  It  was  the  fault  of  the  others,  that  was  all  I  He 
ended  by  giving  up  the  three  francs,  retaining  the  seven  sous 
for  his  tobacco  on  the  morrow.  Coupeau,  quite  furious,  would 
have  knocked  him  over,  had  not  Gervaise,  greatly  frightened, 


THE    WEDDING  83 

pulled  him  by  bis  coat,  and  begged  him  to  keep  cool.  There- 
upon he  decided  to  borrow  the  two  francs  of  Lorilleux,  who, 
after  at  first  refusing  them,  eventually  lent  them  on  the  sly, 
for  his  wife  would  never  have  consented  to  his  doing  so. 

Meantime,  M.  Madinier  went  round  with  a  plate  ;  and  the 
ladies  who  were  unaccompanied — Madame  Lerat,  Madame 
Fauconnier,  and  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou — discreetly  deposited 
their  five-franc  pieces  in  it.  Then  the  gentlemen  retired  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  made  up  the  account.  They 
were  fifteen ;  so  the  amount  to  be  paid  was  seventy-five  francs. 
When  these  were  in  the  plate,  each  man  added  five  sous  for 
the  waiters.  It  took  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  laborious  calcu- 
lations before  everything  was  settled  to  general  satisfaction. 

However,  when  M.  Madinier,  who  wished  to  hand  over  the 
money,  had  got  the  landlord  to  step  up,  the  company  was 
thunderstruck  to  hear  him  say  with  a  smile  that  the  sum 
tendered  fell  short  of  what  was  owing  to  him.  There  were 
various  extras  ;  and,  as  the  word  *  extras  '  was  greeted  with 
angry  exclamations,  he  entered  into  details.  Twenty-five 
quarts  of  wine  had  been  consumed  instead  of  twenty,  the  num- 
ber agreed  upon  beforehand ;  then  he  had  added  the  frosted 
eggs,  thinking  that  the  dessert  was  rather  scanty  ;  and  finally, 
a  decanter  of  rum  had  been  served  with  the  cofi'ee,  in  case  any 
one  should  like  it.  Then  a  formidable  quarrel  ensued.  Cou- 
peau,  who  was  appealed  to,  protested  loudly ;  he  had  never 
mentioned  twenty  quarts  ;  as  for  the  frosted  eggs,  they  formed 
part  of  the  dessert ;  so  much  the  worse  for  the  landlord  if  he 
had  added  them  without  being  asked  to  do  so.  There  re- 
mained the  rum,  a  mere  nothing,  just  a  dodge  for  increasing 
the  bill  by  putting  on  the  table  some  spirits  to  which  nobody 
had  attached  any  importance. 

'  The  rum  was  on  the  tray  with  the  coffee,'  he  cried ;  '  so 
it  comes  in  with  the  coffee.  Go  to  the  deuce !  Take  your 
money,  and  we'll  never  set  foot  in  your  den  again.' 

'  It's  six  francs  more,'  repeated  the  landlord.  *  Pay  me  my 
six  francs;  and  with  all  that  I  haven't  counted  the  four 
loaves  which  that  gentleman  ate ! ' 

The  whole  company  pressed  round  him  with  furious  gest- 
ures and  a  hubbub  of  voices  choking  with  rage.  The  women 
in  particular  threw  aside  all  reserve,  and  refused  to  add  another 
centime.  Ah,  well  I  it  was  a  pretty  wedding  party  I  Mademoi- 
selle Eemanjou  would  never  again  mix  herself  up  in  anything 
of  that  sort  I    Madame  Fauconnier  had  dined  very  badly 

a2 


84  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

indeed  ;  at  home,  for  a  couple  of  francs,  she  could  have  had  a 
delicious  little  meal.  Madame  Gaudron  complained  bitterly 
of  having  been  consigned  to  the  bad  end  of  the  table,  next  to 
My-Boots,  who  had  not  shown  her  the  shghtest  attention.  In 
short,  those  sort  of  parties  always  wound  up  badly.  When  one 
wanted  to  have  friends  at  one's  wedding,  one  should  pay  the 
expenses  1  Gervaise,  who  had  taken  refuge  behind  Mother 
Coupeau,  near  one  of  the  windows,  said  nothing,  but  felt 
terribly  ashamed,  for  she  realised  that  all  these  recriminations 
were  directed  at  her. 

M.  Madinier  ended  by  going  down  with  the  landlord,  and 
they  could  be  heard  arguing  below.  Half  an  hour  went  by 
before  the  cardboard-box  manufacturer  returned,  saying  that  he 
had  settled  the  matter  by  giving  three  francs.  But  the  others 
were  still  upset,  exasperated,  and  constantly  reverted  to  the 
question  of  those  extras.  The  uproar  was  increased  by  an  act 
of  vigour  on  the  part  of  Madame  Boche.  She  had  kept  her  eye 
on  her  husband,  and  at  length  detected  him  slipping  his  arm 
round  the  waist  of  Madame  Lerat.  And  thereupon,  with  all  her 
strength,  after  hastily  aiming  at  him,  she  flung  a  water  bottle, 
which  smashed  against  the  wall. 

The  evening  was  spoilt.  Everyone  waxed  more  and  more 
surly.  M.  Madinier  suggested  some  singing,  but  Bibi-the 
Smoker,  who  had  a  fine  voice,  had  gone  off  a  moment  pre- 
viously ;  and  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou,  who  was  leaning  out 
of  the  window,  caught  sight  of  him  under  the  acacias, 
swinging  a  big  bareheaded  girl  round,  while  the  cornet-^- 
piston  and  the  fiddles  played  the  *  Mustard  Dealer '  quad- 
rille ;  in  which  the  several  couples  marked  time  at  the 
pastourelle  by  vigorously  clapping  their  hands.  Then  there 
was  a  general  break  up  of  the  wedding  party:  My-Bootg 
and  the  two  Gaudrons  went  down  :  even  Boche  sneaked  off. 
The  couples  dancing  could  be  seen  from  the  windows  between 
the  leaves,  which,  by  the  hght  of  the  lanterns  hanging 
among  the  branches  had  the  crude  green  hue  of  foliage  as 
depicted  in  stage-scenery.  There  was  not  a  wbiff  of  air 
outside  ;  the  night  was  slumberous,  heavy  with  intense  heat. 
In  the  dining-room,  M.  Madinier  and  Lorilleux  were  now 
engaged  in  serious  conversation,  whilst  the  ladies,  no  longer 
knowing  how  to  vent  their  ill-humour,  examined  their 
dresses,  trying  to  discover  if  they  had  got  stained. 

Madame  Lerat's  fringe  looked  as  though  it  had  been 
soused  in  the  coffee.    Madame  Fauconnier's  chintz  gown  was 


THE    WEDDING  85 

Bmeared  with  gravy.  Mother  Coupeau's  green  shawl,  having 
fallen  from  a  chair,  was  discovered  in  a  corner,  rolled  up  and 
trodden  upon.  But  it  was  particularly  Madame  Lorilleux 
whose  anger  knew  no  end.  She  had  a  stain  on  the  back  of 
her  dress ;  it  was  useless  for  the  others  to  declare  the  con- 
trary— she  could  feel  it.  And,  indeed,  after  twisting  herself 
about  in  front  of  a  looking  glass,  she  ended  by  catching  a 
glimpse  of  it. 

*  What  did  I  say  ? '  she  cried.  '  It's  gravy  from  the  fowl. 
The  waiter  shall  pay  for  the  dress.  I  will  bring  an  action 
against  him.  Ah !  this  is  a  fit  ending  to  such  a  day.  I 
should  have  done  better  to  have  stayed  in  bed.  To  begin 
with,  I'm  off.     I've  had  enough  of  their  wretched  wedding  ! ' 

Thereupon  she  rushed  out  of  the  room  in  a  rage,  making 
the  staircase  shake  beneath  her  heavy  tread.  In  vain  did 
Lorilleux  run  after  her ;  all  that  he  could  obtain  from  her 
was  that  she  would  wait  five  minutes  on  the  pavement  out- 
side, if  he  wanted  them  to  go  off  together.  She  ought  to 
have  left  directly  after  the  storm,  as  she  had  wished  to  do. 
She  would  make  Coupeau  smart  for  that  day,  that  she  would! 
When  her  brother  heard  that  she  was  in  such  a  passion,  he 
seemed  quite  dismayed ;  and  Gervaise,  to  save  him  any  un- 
pleasantness, consented  to  go  home  at  once.  Thereupon  they 
all  hastily  embraced  each  other.  M.  Madinier  undertook  to  see 
Mother  Coupeau  home.  Madame  Boche  was  to  take  Claude 
and  Etienne  to  sleep  at  her  place ;  their  mother,  said  she, 
might  be  quite  easy  about  them.  They  were  now  sleeping 
heavily  on  their  chairs,  with  their  digestions  quite  upset  by 
the  frosted  eggs.  At  last  the  newly-married  couple  were 
starting  off  with  Lorilleux,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  company 
at  the  wine-shop,  when  a  battle  began  down  below  in  the  danc- 
ing place.  Amidst  the  wild  blaring  and  scraping  of  the  cornet 
and  the  violins,  which  were  now  playing  the  '  Pearl  *  polka, 
Boche  and  My-Boots,  who  had  appropriated  a  lady,  refused  to 
restore  her  to  two  soldiers  who  had  claims  on  her,  and 
even  threatened  to  clear  out  the  whole  place. 

It  was  scarcely  eleven  o'clock.  The  Boulevard  de  la 
Chapelle,  and  the  entire  neighbourhood  of  the  Goutte-d'Or, 
were  full  of  the  loud  uproar  of  drunkenness,  for  that  Saturday 
had  been  the  fortnightly  pay-day.  Madame  Lorilleux  was 
waiting  under  a  gas-lamp  at  a  score  of  steps  from  the 
'  Silver  Windmill.'  She  took  her  husband's  arm,  and  without 
looking  round,  walked  on  in  front  at  such  a  pace    that 


86  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Gervaise  and  Coupeau  became  breathless  in  trying  to  keep 
up  with  her.  Now  and  again  they  had  to  step  off  the  pave- 
ment to  leave  room  for  some  drunkard  who  had  fallen  there, 
with  legs  and  arms  outstretched.  At  last  Lorilleux  looked 
back,  endeavouring  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation. 

'  We  will  see  you  as  far  as  your  door,'  said  he. 

But  Madame  Lorilleux,  raising  her  voice,  expressed  the 
opinion  that  it  was  a  funny  thing  to  spend  one's  wedding 
night  in  such  a  filthy  hole  as  the  Hotel  Boncoeur.  Ought 
they  not  to  have  deferred  their  marriage,  and  have  saved  up 
a  few  sous  to  buy  some  furniture,  so  as  to  have  had  a  home 
of  their  own?  Ah!  they  would  be  comfortable,  and  no 
mistake,  right  up  under  the  roof,  in  a  little  closet,  at  ten 
francs  a  month,  where  there  wasn't  even  a  breath  of  air  ! 

*  But  I've  given  notice,  we're  not  going  to  live  up  there,' 
timidly  interposed  Coupeau.  *We  keep  Gervaise's  room, 
which  is  larger.' 

At  this  Madame  Lorilleux  forgot  herself,  and  abruptly 
turned  round.  '  That's  worse  than  all !  '  cried  she.  '  You're 
going  to  use  the  Hobbler's  room.' 

Gervaise  became  very  pale.  This  nickname,  which  she 
received  full  in  the  face  for  the  first  time,  fell  on  her  like 
a  blow.  Moreover,  she  fully  understood  her  sister-in-law's 
meaning  :  the  Hobbler's  room  was  the  room  which  she  had 
shared  with  Lantier,  where  the  shreds  of  her  past  life  still 
hung  about. 

Coupeau  did  not  understand  this,  but  merely  felt  hurt  at 
the  nickname.  '  You  do  wrong  to  christen  others,*  he 
retorted  angrily.  *  You  don't  know,  perhaps,  that  the  people 
of  the  neighbourhood  call  you  Cow's-Tail  on  account  of  your 
hair.  That  doesn't  please  you,  does  it  ?  Why  shouldn't  we 
keep  the  room  on  the  first  floor  ?  The  children  are  stopping 
with  Madame  Boche,  and  we  shall  be  very  comfortable.' 

Madame  Lorilleux  added  nothing  further,  but  retired  into 
her  dignity,  horribly  annoyed  to  think  that  her  wisp  of  red 
hair  should  have  brought  her  such  an  offensive  nickname. 
Coupeau,  to  console  Gervaise,  gently  squeezed  her  arm  ;  and 
he  even  succeeded  in  making  her  smile,  by  telUng  her  in  a 
whisper  that  they  started  on  their  married  life  with  exactly 
seven  sous  before  them — three  big  ones  and  a  little  one,  which 
he  chinked  together  in  his  trousers'  pocket.  However,  when 
they  reached  the  Hotel  Boncoeur,  the  two  women  said  good- 
night in  such  a  sulky  fashion,  that  Coupeau,  calling  them  a 


THE    WEDDING  87 

couple  of  ninnies,  had  began  to  push  them  into  each  other's 
arms,  when  a  drunken  fellow,  who  seemingly  wished  to  turn 
to  the  right,  suddenly  lurched  to  the  left  and  came  tumbling 
between  them. 

*  Why,  it's  old  Bazouge  I  *  exclaimed  Lorilleux.  *  He's 
had  his  fill  to-day.' 

Gervaise,  quite  frightened,  retreated  close  to  the  door  of 
the  hotel.  Old  Bazouge,  who  was  an  undertaker's  mute  of 
some  fifty  years  of  age,  had  his  black  trousers  all  stained  with 
mud,  his  black  cape  hooked  awry,  and  his  black  leather  hat 
badly  dented  by  some  tumble  he  had  met  with. 

*  Don't  be  afraid,  he  isn't  ill-natured,'  continued 
Lorilleux.  *  He's  a  neighbour  of  ours,  and  lives  in  the  third 
room  in  the  passage  before  us.  He  would  find  himself  in  a 
nice  mess  if  his  people  were  to  see  him  like  this  I ' 

Old  Bazouge,  however,  took  offence  at  the  young  woman's 
evident  terror.  '  Well,  what  1 '  he  hiccoughed,  *  we  don't  eat 
people  in  my  trade.  I'm  as  good  as  another,  any  day,  my 
little  woman.  No  doubt  I've  had  a  drop  I  When  work's 
plentiful  one  has  to  grease  the  wheels.  It's  not  you,  nor  your 
friends,  who  would  have  carried  down  the  stiff'un  of  forty- 
seven  stone  whom  I  and  a  pal  brought  from  the  fourth  floor 
to  the  pavement  this  afternoon,  without  damaging  him 
either — for  my  part  I  like  jolly  people.' 

But  in  spite  of  this  speech,  Gervaise  retreated  yet  further 
into  the  doorway,  seized  with  a  great  inclination  to  weep, 
which  quite  spoiled  her  day  of  sober-minded  joy.  She  no 
longer  thought  of  kissing  her  sister-in-law,  but  implored 
Coupeau  to  get  rid  of  the  drunkard.  Then  Bazouge,  as  he 
stumbled  about,  made  a  gesture  full  of  philosophical  con- 
tempt :  *  It  won't  prevent  you  from  passing  through  our 
bands,  my  little  woman,'  said  he.  *  You'll  perhaps  be  glad 
to  do  so,  one  of  these  days.  Yes,  I  know  some  women  who'd 
be  much  obliged  if  we'd  carry  them  off.'  Then,  as  the 
Lorilleux  made  up  their  minds  to  lead  him  away,  he  turned 
round,  and  stuttered  out  a  last  sentence,  between  tv/O  hic- 
coughs : 

*  When  one's  dead— listen  to  this— when  one  s  dead,  it's 
for  a  precious  long  time,  it  is.' 


88  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

IV 

SUNSHINE    AND  CLOUD 

Four  years  of  hard  toil  followed.  In  the  neighbourhood, 
Gervaise  and  Coupeau  were  reputed  to  be  a  happy  couple,  who 
did  not  quarrel,  but  led  a  somewhat  retired  life,  taking,  by  way  of 
amusement,  a  short  walk  regularly  every  Sunday,  in  the  di- 
rection of  Saint-Ouen.  The  wife  worked  her  twelve  hours  a  day 
at  Madame  Fauconnier's,  and  yet  found  means  to  keep  her 
lodging  as  clean  and  bright  as  a  new  coined  sou,  and  to  pre- 
pare the  meals  for  all  her  family,  morning  and  evening.  The 
husband  never  got  drunk,  but  brought  his  wages  home  every 
fortnight,  and  smoked  a  pipe  at  his  window  in  the  evening,  to 
get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  before  going  to  bed.  Their  nice, 
pleasant  ways  were  cited  as  examples  ;  and,  as  between  them 
they  earned  close  upon  nine  francs  a  day,  it  was  reckoned  that 
they  were  able  to  put  by  a  good  deal  of  money. 

However,  during  the  earlier  period  especially,  they  had  to 
work  exceedingly  hard  to  make  both  ends  meet.  Their 
marriage  had  burdened  them  with  a  debt  of  two  hundred 
francs.  Then,  too,  they  abhorred  the  Hotel  Boncoeur.  They 
thought  it  a  disgusting  place,  full  of  unpleasant  surroundings, 
and  they  dreamed  of  having  a  home  and  furniture  of  their 
own,  which  they  would  take  good  care  of.  Over  and  over 
again  they  reckoned  up  the  sum  of  money  that  would  be 
necessary.  It  came  in  round  figures  to  three  hundred  and 
fifty  francs,^  if  they  were  to  have  sufficient  accommodation  for 
putting  their  things  away,  as  well  as  pots  and  pans  handy 
whenever  they  might  require  them.  They  were  {-espairing  of 
being  able  to  save  so  large  a  sum  in  less  than  two  years,  when 
they  met  with  a  piece  of  good  fortune.  An  old  gentleman  of 
Plassans  asked  them  to  let  him  have  Claude,  the  elder  of  the 
little  ones,  to  send  to  the  college  there.  It  was  the  generous 
whim  of  an  original,  who,  as  an  amateur  of  paintings,  had 
been  greatly  struck  by  some  figures  that  the  youngster  had 
sketched  in  former  days.  Claude  was  already  costing  them  a 
deal  of  money.  However,  when  they  only  had  the  younger 
brother  Etienne  to  keep,  they  were  able  to  put  by  the  three 
hundred  and  fifty  francs  in  seven  months  and  a  half.  On  the 
day  when  they  bought  their  furniture  of  a  second-hand  dealer 


SUNSHINE  AND  CLOUD  89 

on  the  Rug  Belhomme,  they  went  for  a  short  walk  along  the 
outer  Boulevards  before  returning  home,  their  hearts  full  of 
a  great  joy.  The  things  comprised  a  bedstead,  a  pedestal  table, 
a  chest  of  drawers  with  a  marble  top,  a  wardrobe,  a  round 
table  with  an  American  cloth  cover,  and  six  chairs,  all  in  old 
mahogany — without  counting  the  bedding,  the  linen,  and  the 
kitchen  utensils,  which  were  almost  new.  With  them  it  was 
like  a  serious  and  decisive  entrance  into  life — something 
which,  by  making  them  owners  of  property,  gave  them  a 
place  among  the  well-to-do  people  of  the  neighbourhood. 

For  two  months  past  they  had  been  busy  seeking  some 
rooms ;  and  these  they  had  originally  wished  to  secure  in  the 
big  house  of  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  But  not  a  closet  was 
vacant  there ;  so  that  they  had  to  relinquish  their  old  dream. 
To  tell  the  truth,  Gervaise  was  not  over  sorry  at  this  failure, 
for  the  idea  of  being  so  near  the  Lorilleux  quite  frightened 
her.  However,  they  looked  about  elsewhere.  In  order  that 
Gervaise  might  be  able  to  run  up  home  at  any  hour  of  the 
day,  Coupeau  sensibly  enough  did  not  wish  to  be  far  from 
Madame  Fauconnier's.  And  at  length  they  discovered  some- 
thing which  exactly  suited  them,  a  large  room  with  a  small 
closet  and  a  kitchen,  in  the  Rue  Neuve  de  la  Goutte-d'Or, 
almost  opposite  the  laundress's.  The  house  was  small  with 
but  one  upper  storey,  reached  by  a  very  steep  staircase,  at  top 
of  which  there  were  only  two  lodgings,  one  to  the  right  and 
the  other  to  the  left.  The  ground  floor  was  occupied  by  a 
man  who  let  out  carts  and  trucks,  which  he  housed  in  some 
sheds  skirting  a  spacious  courtyard  alongside  the  street. 
Gervaise,  quite  deUghted,  almost  fancied  herself  back  in  the 
country.  There  were  no  neighbours,  and  consequently  there 
was  no  gossip  to  fear  ;  it  was  a  little  quiat  corner  which 
reminded  her  of  a  lane  at  Plassans,  behind  the  ramparts. 
And  to  crown  her  good  luck,  by  just  stretching  her  neck,  she 
could  see  her  window  from  her  ironing  table  without  having 
to  quit  her  work. 

The  Coupeaus  took  possession  of  their  new  abode  at  the 
April  quarter.  Gervaise  was  expecting  a  baby  very  shortly. 
Still  she  bravely  continued  to  work,  merely  laughing  at 
Coupeau  whenever  he  wanted  her  to  take  a  rest.  Now  that 
there  would  soon  be  one  more  mouth  to  feed  they  must  not  be 
idle,  she  said.  And  it  was  she  who  cleaned  the  lodging  out 
before  helping  her  husband  to  put  the  furniture  in  place. 
She  quite  worshipped  the  things,  dusting  them  with  maternal 


90  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

care,  and  her  heart  breaking  at  the  sight  of  the  least  scratch. 
She  stood  still,  amazed,  as  though  she  had  struck  herself, 
whenever  she  knocked  against  anything  while  sweeping.  The 
chest  of  drawers  was  especially  dear  to  her ;  she  thought  it 
BO  beautifully  solid,  and  serious  looking.  A  dream,  of  which 
Bhe  dare  not  speak,  was  to  have  a  nice  clock  to  stand  in  the 
centre  of  the  marble  slab,  where  it  would  produce  a  magnifi- 
cent effect.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  coming  baby,  she  would 
perhaps  have  risked  buying  such  a  clock.  However,  she 
Bighed  and  put  off  doing  so  till  later  on. 

The  young  couple  resumed^their  life  in  a  state  of  enchant- 
ment with  their  new  home.  Etienne's  bed  occupied  the  little 
closet,  where  there  was  still  room  enough  to  place  another 
child's  crib.  The  kitchen  was  a  very  tiny  affair  and  as  dark 
as  night,  but,  by  leaving  the  door  wide-open,  one  could 
manage  to  see ;  besides,  there  was  no  question  of  cooking  meals 
for  thirty  people,  all  that  Gervaise  needed  was  room  to  make 
her  soup.  As  for  the  large  room,  it  was  their  pride.  The 
first  thing  in  the  morning,  they  drew  the  white  calico  curtains 
of  the  alcove,  and  the  room  was  then  transformed  into  a  dining- 
room,  with  the  round  table  in  the  centre,  and  the  wardrobe 
and  the  chest  of  drawers  facing  each  other.  As  the  grate 
burned  as  much  as  fifteen  sous'  worth  of  coal  a  day,  they 
closed  it  up ;  and  a  little  cast-iron  stove,  placed  on  the  marble 
hearthstone,  kept  them  warm  during  the  coldest  weather  for 
seven  sous.  Then,  too,  Coupeau  had  decorated  the  walls  as 
best  he  could,  projecting  various  embellishments  for  the 
future.  A  tall  engraving,  representing  a  marshal  of  France 
caracoling  with  his  baton  in  his  hand  between  a  cannon  and 
a  heap  of  round  shot,  occupied  the  place  of  an  over-mantel ; 
some  family  photographs  were  hung  in  two  rows  above  the 
chest  of  drawers,  on  either  side  of  a  little  holy- water  receiver 
of  gilt  china,  in  which  some  matches  were  kept ;  and  atop  of 
the  wardrobe,  close  to  the  cuckoo  clock,  to  the  ticking  of 
which  they  seemed  to  listen,  a  bust  of  Pascal  paired  with  one 
of  B^ranger,  the  former  looking  grave,  and  the  other  smiling. 
Thus  the  room  was  really  a  fine  one. 

*  Guess  how  much  we  pay  here  ? '  Gervaise  would  ask  of 
every  visitor  she  had.  And  whenever  they  guessed  too  high  a 
sum,  she  triumphed  and  exclaimed,  in  her  delight  at  being  so 
well  suited  for  so  little  money :  '  One  hundred  and  fifty  francs, 
not  a  sou  more  1  Isn't  it  almost  hke  having  it  for  nothing  ?  ' 

The  BueNeuve  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  itself  contributed  largely 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  91 

to  the  contentment  of  the  young  couple.  Gervaise  lived  in  it, 
incessantly  going  backwards  and  forwards  between  her  home 
and  Madame  Fauconnier's,  and  Coupeau  would  come  down 
of  an  evening,  and  smoke  his  pipe  on  the  door-step.  The 
street  was  steep  and  uneven,  without  any  side  pavements.  At 
the  top,  near  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  proper,  there  were 
some  dismal-looking  shops,  with  dirty  windows,  cobblers'  and 
coopers'  shops,  a  wretched  grocer's,  and  a  wine-shop,  the 
shutters  of  which — the  landlord  having  failed —  had  been  up 
for  weeks  past,  and  were  fast  being  covered  with  placards.  At 
the  other  end,  over  towards  Paris,  the  view  of  the  sky  was 
shut  out  by  houses  four  storeys  high,  the  ground  floors  of 
which  were  occupied  by  a  succession  of  laundresses  one  after 
the  other.  And  here  there  was  only  a  petty  barber's  provincial- 
looking  shop  front  with  green  wood-work  and  window  full  of 
soft  coloured  bottles  to  enliven  the  shade  with  the  sparkle  of 
the  miniature  brass  shaving  dishes,  always  scrupulously  clean, 
which  served  as  its  sign.  But  the  liveliest  part  of  the  street 
was  the  middle,  where  the  buildings  being  fewer  and  of  less 
elevation,  admitted  the  air  and  sunshine.  The  truck  sheds  of 
the  house  where  the  Coupeaus  lived,  a  seltzer  water  manu- 
factory next  door,  and  the  wash-house  opposite  left  a  large 
quiet  open  space,  the  peacefulness  of  which  seemed  increased 
by  the  faint  voices  of  the  women  washing,  and  the  regular 
subdued  puffing  of  the  sfceam-engine.  Low-lying  plots  of 
ground,  lanes  winding  away  between  black  walls,  gave  the 
spot  the  appearance  of  a  village.  And  Coupeau,  amused  by 
the  rare  passers-by  who  stepped  over  the  ever-flowing  streams 
of  soapy  water,  said  that  it  reminded  him  of  some  place  in  the 
country  where  one  of  his  uncles  had  taken  him  when  he  was 
five  years  old.  Gervaise's  delight  was  a  tree  planted  in  a 
court-yard  to  the  left  of  her  window,  an  acacia  with  a  single 
branch,  whose  scanty  green  foliage  sufficed  for  the  charm  of  the 
entire  street. 

It  was  on  the  last  day  of  April  that  the  event  which  the 
young  woman  had  long  been  expecting  took  place.  In  the 
afternoon,  towards  four  o'clock,  while  she  was  ironing  a  pair 
of  curtains  at  Madame  Fauconnier's,  she  had  to  cease  work. 
However,  she  would  not  go  home  at  once,  but  remained  there 
on  a  chair,  and  even  resumed  her  ironiug,  whenever  she  was 
able,  for  the  curtains  were  wanted  quickly  and  she 
obstinately  made  a  point  of  finishing  them.  But  a  little  later, 
while  she  wa?  actually  talking  of  starting  on  some  shirts,  she 


92  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

found  it  necessary  to  go  home,  and  only  got  there  with  much 
difficulty.  Afterwards,  feeling  suddenly  relieved,  and  thinking 
that  she  must  have  been  mistaken,  she  determined  to  get 
Coupeau's  dinner  ready.  That  evening  they  were  to  have 
had  some  neck  chops  in  a  stew.  All  went  well  whilst  she 
peeled  the  potatoes,  and  set  the  chops  to  cook  in  a  saucepan ; 
but  another  seizure  came  upon  her  when  the  stew  at  last  began 
to  simmer  on  the  cinder-covered  fire.  Then  on  returning  to 
the  room,  she  thought  she  would  at  least  have  time  to  lay 
the  cloth  for  her  husband  at  one  end  of  the  table.  But  in 
all  haste  she  had  to  put  down  the  bottle  of  wine,  and  lack- 
ing the  strength  to  take  a  single  step  she  fell  prostrate  on 
a  mat.  When  the  midwife,  whom  one  of  Madame  Fauconnier'a 
work-girls  had  previously  gone  to  fetch,  arrived,  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  later,  it  was  there  that  she  found  her. 

The  zinc-worker  was  still  employed  at  the  Lariboisiere 
hospital,  and  Gervaise  would  not  have  him  disturbed.  When 
he  came  home  at  seven  o'clock  he  found  her  in  bed,  well- 
covered  up,  but  looking  very  pale.  The  child  lay  crying, 
swathed  in  a  shawl  at  its  mother's  feet. 

*  Ah,  my  poor  wife  I  *  said  Coupeau,  kissing  Gervaise.  *  And 
to  think  I  was  only  joking  an  hour  ago,  when  you  were  in  such 
distress.' 

She  smiled  faintly,  and  then  murmured  :  *  It's  a  girl.* 

'  Exactly  I  *  resumed  the  zinc-worker,  joking  so  as  to  en- 
liven her.  *  Now  I've  got  what  I  wanted  !  '  And,  taking  the 
child  in  his  arms,  he  continued :  *  Let's  have  a  look  at  you. 
Miss  Malkin  !  You've  got  a  very  black  little  mug.  It'll  get 
whiter,  never  fear.  You  must  be  good,  never  run  about  the 
streets,  but  grow  up  sensible  like  your  papa  and  mamma.' 

Gervaise  looked  at  her  daughter  very  seriously,  with  wide- 
open  eyes,  which  slowly  became  tinged  with  sadness.  She 
shook  her  head ;  she  would  have  preferred  a  boy,  because 
boys  always  pull  through  somehow  or  other,  and  do  not  run 
BO  many  risks  as  girls  do  in  Paris.  The  midwife  had  to  take 
the  baby  away  from  Coupeau.  She  also  forbade  Gervaise  to 
talk  ;  it  was  quite  bad  enough  that  so  much  noise  should  be 
made  around  her.  Then  the  zinc-worker  said  that  he  must 
communicate  the  news  to  Mother  Coupeau  and  the  Lorilleux, 
but  as  he  was  dying  with  hunger,  he  must  first  of  all  have  his 
dinner.  It  was  a  great  worry  to  the  invalid  to  see  him  wait 
on  himself,  run  to  the  kitchen  for  the  stew,  eat  it  out  of  a  soup 
plate,  and  fail  to  find  the  bread.    In  spite  of  all  injunctions, 


SUNSiriNE  AND   CLOUD  93 

Bhe  bewailed  her  helplessness  and  fidgeted  about.  It  was 
stupid  of  her  not  to  have  managed  to  set  the  cloth.  Her  poor 
old  man  would  not  think  it  kind  of  her  to  nurse  herself  hke 
that  whilst  he  was  dining  so  badly.  At  least,  were  the  potatoes 
cooked  enough  ?  She  no  longer  remembered  whether  she  had 
put  any  salt  to  them. 

'  Keep  quiet  I  *  cried  the  midwife. 

*  Ah  I  it's  no  use  your  trying  to  prevent  her  from  worrying 
herself  I '  said  Coupeau  with  his  mouth  full.  *  If  you  were 
not  there,  I'd  bet  she'd  get  up  to  cut  my  bread.  Keep  still, 
you  big  goose  1  Your  stew's  very  good.  Madame  wHl  eat 
some  with  me.    Won't  you,  madame  ?  ' 

The  midwife  declined ;  but  she  was  willing  to  accept  a 
glass  of  wine,  because  it  had  really  upset  her,  said  she,  to 
find  her  patient  on  the  floor  when  she  arrived.  Coupeau  at 
length  went  off  to  tell  the  news  to  his  relations,  and  half  an 
hour  later  he  returned  with  all  of  them,  Mother  Coupeau,  the 
Lorilleux,  and  Madame  Lerat,  whom  he  had  met  at  the 
chain-maker's.  The  Lorilleux,  in  the  face  of  the  young 
couple's  prosperity,  had  by  this  time  become  very  amiable, 
and  were  wont  to  make  the  most  flattering  remarks 
about  Gervaise,  accompanied,  however,  by  httle  restrictive 
gestures,  nods  of  the  head,  and  peculiar  glances,  as  though  to 
adjourn  their  real  final  judgment.  In  short,  they  knew  what 
they  knew  ;  only  they  would  not  go  against  the  opinion  of  the 
entire  neighbourhood. 

*  I've  brought  you  the  whole  gang ! '  cried  Coupeau  as  he 
came  in.  *  It  can't  be  helped  !  they  wanted  to  see  you.  Don't 
open  your  mouth,  it's  forbidden.  They'll  stop  there,  and  look 
at  you,  without  ceremony  you  know.  As  for  me,  I'm  going 
to  make  them  some  coffee,  and  some  of  the  right  sort  I  ' 

He  vanished  into  the  kitchen.  Then  Mother  Coupeau, 
after  embracing  Gervaise,  went  into  an  ecstasy  over  the 
child,  which  she  declared  to  be  a  very  fine  one.  The  two 
other  women  also  kissed  the  invahd  on  her  cheeks.  And  all 
three,  standing  before  the  bed,  commented  on  the  various 
incidents  of  the  birth.  Then  Madame  Lerat  examined  the 
little  one,  and  declared  that  she  was  well  formed,  except  that 
her  head  seemed  rather  too  pointed,  whereupon  she  began 
to  press  it  gently,  so  as  to  make  it  rounder.  The  infant 
screamed,  and  Madame  Lorilleux  in  a  passion  snatched  it 
from  her :  it  was  sufficient  to  give  a  creature  every  imaginable 
vice,  said  she,  to  mess  it  about  like  that,  when  its  skull  was 


94  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

so  tender.  Then  slie  tried  to  find  out  whom  the  baby  resem- 
bled. They  nearly  all  quarrelled  over  that.  Lorilleux,  who 
was  stretching  his  neck  in  between  the  women,  repeated  that 
there  was  no  likeness  to  Coupeau,  except,  perhaps,  about  the 
nose,  and  even  in  that  respect  the  resemblance  was  very 
slight.  No,  the  infant  was  nearly  the  image  of  her  mother, 
with  somebody  else's  eyes  though. 

Coupeau,  however,  failed  to  reappear.  One  could  hear 
him  in  the  kitchen,  struggling  with  the  stove  and  the  coffee- 
pot. Gervaise  was  worrying  herself  frightfully ;  it  was  not  the 
proper  thing  for  a  man  to  make  coffee  ;  and  without  listening 
to  the  energetic  hushes  of  the  midwife,  she  called  out  to  tell 
him  what  he  ought  to  do. 

'  Here  we  are ! '  said  Coupeau,  at  last  coming  in  with  the 
coffee-pot  in  his  hand.  *  Didn't  I  just  have  a  bother  with  it  1 
It  all  went  wrong  on  purpose !  Now  we'll  drink  out  of 
glasses,  if  you're  agreeable,  because,  you  know,  the  cups  are 
still  at  the  shop.' 

They  seated  themselves  round  the  table,  and  the  zinc- 
worker  insisted  on  pouring  out  the  coffee  himself.  It  smelt 
very  strong  ;  it  was  none  of  your  weak  chicory  stuff.  When 
the  midwife  had  sipped  hers  she  went  off :  everything  was 
going  on  nicely,  and  she  was  not  required.  If  the  young 
woman  should  not  pass  a  good  night,  they  were  to  send  for 
her  on  the  morrow.  She  was  scarcely  down  the  staircase, 
when  Madame  Lorilleux  called  her  a  glutton  and  a  good- 
for-nothing.  What  1  she  put  four  lumps  of  sugar  in  her 
coffee,  and  charged  fifteen  francs  for  leaving  you  with  your 
baby  all  by  yourself?  But  Coupeau  took  the  midwife's  part ; 
he  would  willingly  fork  out  the  fifteen  francs.  After  all, 
women  of  that  class  spent  their  youth  in  studying,  so  it  was 
only  right  that  they  should  charge  a  good  price. 

They  had  now  pushed  the  table  close  up  to  the  bed,  and 
until  ten  o'clock,  Gervaise,  slowly  overcome  by  intense  fatigue, 
remained  in  a  state  of  smiling  stupor,  with  her  head  turned 
sideways  on  the  pillow ;  she  saw  and  heard,  but  no  longer 
found  strength  to  make  a  gesture  or  speak  a  word  ;  it 
eeemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  dead,  of  a  very  gentle  death,  from 
the  depths  of  which  she  felt  happy  at  seeing  the  others  alive. 
Now  and  again  the  little  one  uttered  a  faint  cry  amidst  all 
the  loud  chatter,  the  endless  opinions  which  were  vented 
concerning  a  murder  committed  on  the  previous  day  in  the 
Rue  du  Bon-Puits,  at  the  other  end  of  La  Chapelle. 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  95 

Then,  as  the  visitors  were  thinking  of  retiring,  the  subject 
of  the  christening  came  up.  The  Lorilleux  had  previously 
promised  to  be  godfather  and  godmother.  Behind  the 
parents  the  prospect  made  them  glum  ;  however,  if  they  had 
not  been  asked  to  stand,  they  would  certainly  have  pulled 
wry  faces.  Coupeau,  for  his  part,  did  not  see  any  need  for 
christening  the  little  one  ;  it  certainly  would  not  procure  her 
an  income,  and  she  might  catch  a  cold  from  it.  But  Mother 
Coupeau  called  him  a  heathen.  The  Lorilleux,  too,  though 
they  did  not  put  themselves  out  to  partake  of  the  Sacrament, 
plumed  themselves  on  their  religious  sentiments. 

•  It  shall  be  next  Sunday, if  you  like,'  said  the  chain-maker. 

And  Gervaise  having  consented  with  a  nod,  every  one  kissed 
her  and  told  her  to  take  great  care  of  herself.  They  also  wished 
the  baby  good-bye.  Each  went  to  lean  over  the  trembling 
child  with  smiles  and  loving  words  as  though  she  were  able 
to  understand  them.  And  they  called  her  Nana,  the  pet  name 
for  Anna,  which  was  her  godmother's  name  :  *  Good-night, 
Nana.     Come,  be  a  good  girl,  Nana.' 

When  they  had  at  length  gone  off,  Coupeau  drew  his 
chair  close  up  to  the  bed  and  finished  his  pipe,  while  holding 
Gervaise's  hand  in  his.  He  smoked  slowly,  deeply  affected, 
and  venting  short  sentences  between  each  puff :  *  Well,  old 
woman,  they've  made  your  head  ache,  haven't  they  ?  You 
see,  I  couldn't  prevent  them  from  coming.  After  all,  it  shows 
their  friendship.  But  we're  better  alone,  aren't  we?  I 
wanted  to  be  a  little  bit  alone  with  you.  It  has  seemed  a 
terribly  long  evening.  Poor  little  thing,  you've  had  a  lot  to 
go  through.  Ah  1  those  little  ones,  they've  no  idea  how  their 
mothers  suffer.  Come,  I  must  give  you  a  kiss,  old  girl,  to 
make  you  well.* 

He  had  gently  slipped  one  of  his  big  hands  behind  her 
back,  and  leaning  over  her,  he  kissed  her  with  all  the  tender- 
ness of  a  rough  man  compassionating  suffering  incurred 
through  himself.  And  Gervaise  felt  very  happy.  She  assured 
him  that  she  was  not  suffering  at  all.  She  was  only  thinking 
of  getting  up  as  soon  as  possible,  for  it  would  never  do  for  her 
to  lie  there  idle.  But  he  tried  to  reassure  her.  Wouldn't  he 
be  able  to  earn  all  that  was  necessary  for  the  child  ?  He 
would  be  a  contemptible  fellow,  if  ever  he  left  her  to  provide  for 
it. 

Coupeau  did  not  sleep  much  that  night.  He  covered  up 
the  fire  in  the  stove,  and  every  hour  he  had  to  get  up  to  give 


96  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  baby  some  spoonfuls  of  lukewarm  sugared  water.  Still 
this  did  not  prevent  him  from  going  off  to  work  in  the 
morning  as  usual.  He  even  took  advantage  of  his  lunch-hour 
to  make  a  declaration  of  the  birth  at  the  town  hall.  Mean- 
time Madame  Boche,  who  had  been  informed  of  the  event, 
hastened  to  come  and  pass  the  day  with  Gervaise.  But  the 
latter,  after  ten  hours'  sound  sleep,  bewailed  her  position, 
saying  that  she  already  ached  from  having  been  so  long  in 
bed.  She  would  become  quite  ill  if  they  did  not  let  her  get 
up.  In  the  evening,  when  Coupeau  returned  home,  she  told 
him  her  worries  :  she  had  confidence  in  Madame  Boche,  no 
doubt,  only  it  quite  upset  her  to  see  a  stranger  installed  in 
her  room,  opening  the  drawers,  and  touching  her  things. 

On  the  morrow  the  doorkeeper,  on  returning  from  some 
errand,  found  her  up,  dressed,  sweeping,  and  getting  her 
husband's  dinner  ready ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  persuade 
her  to  go  to  bed  again.  Were  they  trying  to  make  a  fool  of 
her  ?  she  asked.  It  was  all  very  well  for  ladies  to  coddle 
themselves.  When  a  woman  was  not  rich,  she  had  no  time 
for  that  sort  of  thing.  And  indeed  three  days  after  the  birth 
of  her  daughter,  Gervaise  was  ironing  petticoats  at  Madame 
Fauconnier's,  banging  her  irons,  and  perspiring  from  the  great 
heat  of  the  stove. 

On  the  Saturday  evening,  Madame  Lorilleux  brought  hei 
presents  for  her  godchild — a  cap  that  had  cost  five-and-thirty 
sous,  and  a  christening  dress,  plaited  and  trimmed  with  some 
cheap  lace,  which  she  had  secured  for  six  francs,  because  it 
was  shghtly  soiled.  On  the  morrow,  Lorilleux,  as  godfather, 
gave  the  mother  six  pounds  of  sugar.  They  did  things  in  a 
proper  way.  Even  in  the  evening,  at  the  feast  given  by  the 
Coupeaus,  they  did  not  arrive  empty  handed.  The  husband 
brought  a  sealed  bottle  of  wine  under  each  arm,  whilst  the 
wife  carried  a  big  custard  cake,  bought  at  a  renowned  pastry- 
cook's in  the  Chaussee  Clignancourt.  Unfortunately  the 
Lorilleux  went  and  related  their  grand  doings  all  over  the 
neighbourhood  ;  they  had  spent  close  upon  twenty  francs, 
they  said.  Gervaise  fairly  gasped  on  hearing  of  this  gossip- 
ing, and  no  longer  felt  any  gratitude  to  them  for  their  hand- 
some proceedings. 

It  was  at  this  christening  feast  that  the  Coupeaus  ended 
by  becoming  intimate  with  their  neighbours  across  the 
landing.  The  other  lodging  in  the  Httle  house  was  occupied 
by  two  persons,  mother  and  son,  the  Goujets  as  they  were 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  97 

called.  Hitherto  the  two  families  had  merely  nodded  to  each 
other  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  street,  nothing  more ;  in  fact, 
the  Coupeaus  thought  their  neighbours  rather  bearish.  How- 
ever, the  mother  having  carried  up  a  pail  of  water  for  Gervaise 
on  the  morrow  of  her  confinement,  the  young  woman  considered 
it  the  proper  thing  to  invite  the  Goujets  to  the  feast,  the  more 
especially  as  they  seemed  to  her  very  respectable  people.  And, 
naturally,  they  there  became  well  acquainted  with  each  other. 

The  Goujets  came  from  the  Departement  du  Nord.  The 
mother  mended  lace ;  the  son,  a  blacksmith,  worked  at  an 
iron  bolt  factory.  They  had  lived  in  the  lodging  across  the 
landing  for  five  years  now.  Behind  the  quiet  peacefulness  of 
their  life,  a  long  standing  sorrow  was  hidden.  Goujet,  the 
father,  one  day  when  he  was  furiously  drunk  at  Lille,  had 
beaten  a  comrade  to  death  with  an  iron  bar,  and  had  after- 
wards strangled  himself  in  prison  with  his  handkerchief. 
The  widow  and  child,  who  had  come  to  Paris  after  this  mis- 
fortune, always  felt  the  tragedy  hanging  over  their  heads, 
and  sought  to  atone  for  it  by  strict  honesty,  and  unvarying 
gentleness  and  courage.  There  was  even  a  certain  pride 
mingled  with  all  this,  for  they  ended  by  finding  themselves 
better  than  others.  Madame  Goujet,  who  was  invariably 
dressed  in  black,  her  forehead  girt  with  a  monachal  cap, 
had  a  white,  calm  matronly  face  which  seemed  to  derive 
serenity  from  the  pallor  of  all  the  lace  she  handled,  the 
minuteness  of  the  work  on  which  her  fingers  were  always 
engaged.  Goujet  on  his  side  was  a  superb-looking  giant  of 
twenty-three,  of  herculean  strength,  with  a  rosy  face,  and 
blue  eyes.  His  comrades  at  the  bolt  works  nicknamed  him 
Golden  Mug,  on  account  of  his  handsome  yellow  beard. 

Gervaise  at  once  felt  a  great  friendship  for  these  people. 
When  she  entered  their  home  the  first  time,  she  was  amazed 
at  the  cleanliness  of  the  lodging.  There  was  no  denying  it, 
one  might  blow  all  over  the  place  without  raising  a  grain  of 
dust ;  and  the  tiled  floor  shone  like  a  mirror.  Madame  Goujet 
made  her  enter  her  son's  room,  just  to  see  it.  It  was  as 
pretty  and  white  as  the  room  of  a  young  girl,  with  its  musHn- 
curtained  iron  bedstead,  its  table,  washstand,  and  narrow 
bookcase  hanging  against  the  wall.  Then  there  were 
pictures  all  over  the  place,  figures  cut  out  with  scissors, 
coloured  prints  secured  with  four  tacks,  portraits  of  all  kinds 
of  persons  taken  from  the  illustrated  papers.  Madame  Goujet 
said,  with  a  smile,  that  her  son  was  a  big  baby.    In  the 

H 


98  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

evenings  reading  tired  him,  so  he  amused  himself  with  looHng 
at  his  pictures.  Gervaise  spent  an  hour  with  her  neighbour, 
who  had  returned  to  her  tambour  frame,  in  front  of  a  window. 
The  young  woman  felt  interested  in  the  hundreds  of  pins 
which  secured  the  lace,  happy,  too,  at  being  there  and  inhaling 
the  pleasant  odour  of  cleanliness  which  pervaded  the  lodging, 
where  that  delicate  work  induced  the  silence  of  meditation. 

The  Goujets  even  improved  on  acquaintance.  Their  work 
was  remunerative,  and  they  placed  more  than  a  quarter  of 
their  fortnight's  earnings  in  the  savings-bank.  In  the 
neighbourhood  everyone  nodded  to  them,  and  talked  of  the 
money  they  put  by.  Goujet  never  had  a  hole  in  his  clothes, 
but  always  went  out  in  a  clean,  short,  blue  blouse,  without 
a  stain.  He  was  very  polite,  and  even  a  trifle  timid,  in 
spite  of  his  broad  shoulders.  The  washerwomen  at  the 
end  of  the  street  laughed  to  see  him  lower  his  head  when 
he  passed  them.  He  did  not  like  their  coarse  language, 
and  thought  it  disgusting  that  women  should  constantly  have 
foul  expressions  on  their  tongues.  One  day,  however,  he 
had  come  home  tipsy;  whereupon  Madame  Goujet,  for  sole 
reproach,  had  held  his  father's  portrait  before  him — a  daub 
of  a  painting  piously  hidden  away  in  a  drawer — and  ever 
since  that  lesson  Goujet  had  drunk  no  more  than  was 
good  for  him,  though  he  had  no  hatred  of  wine,  for  wine 
is  necessary  to  the  toiler.  On  Sundays  he  walked  out  with 
his  mother,  giving  her  his  arm.  He  would  generally  conduct 
her  to  Vincennes ;  but  sometimes  they  would  go  to  the 
theatre.  His  mother  remained  his  one  passion.  He  still 
spoke  to  her  as  though  he  w^ere  a  little  child.  Square-headed, 
and  with  his  flesh  toughened  by  the  wielding  of  his  heavy 
hammer,  he  somewhat  resembled  the  larger  animals :  duU 
of  intellect  but,  all  the  same,  good-natured. 

In  the  early  days  of  their  acquaintance,  Gervaise  em- 
barrassed him  immensely.  Then  in  a  few  weeks  he  became 
accustomed  to  her.  He  watched  for  her  that  he  might  carry 
up  her  parcels,  treated  her  as  a  sister  with  sudden  familiarity, 
and  even  cut  out  pictures,  intending  to  give  them  to  her. 
One  morning,  however,  having  opened  her  door  without 
knocking,  he  found  her  en  deshabilU,  washing  her  neck ; 
and,  for  a  week  afterwards,  he  so  shrank  from  looking  her  in 
the  face,  that  he  ended  by  making  her  blush  herself. 

Young  Cassis,  with  his  jovial  Parisian  bounce,  thought 
Golden-Mug  a  bit  of  a  muff.     It  was  quite  right  to  keep  from 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  99 

boozing,  and  from  poking  your  nose  into  the  face  of  every 
girl  you  met  in  the  street ;  but  all  the  same,  a  man  should 
be  a  man,  otherwise  he  might  as  well  wear  petticoats  at  once. 
He  would  sometimes  chaff  the  blacksmith  in  Gervaise's 
presence,  accusing  him  of  making  eyes  at  all  the  women  of  the 
neighbourhood ;  and  that  big  drum-major  of  a  Goujet  would 
energetically  deny  it.  All  this  did  not  prevent  the  two 
workmen  from  being  great  friends.  They  called  each  other 
in  the  morning,  started  off  together,  and  sometimes  one 
would  stand  the  other  a  glass  of  beer  on  the  way  back  home. 
Moreover,  ever  since  the  christening  feast  they  had  thee'd  and 
thou'd  one  another.  Their  friendship  had  reached  this 
point,  when  Golden- Mug  rendered  Young  Cassis  a  great 
service — one  of  those  signal  services  which  a  man  remembers 
all  his  life.  It  was  on  the  second  of  December,  1851,  the  day 
of  the  Coup  d'Etat.  The  brilliant  idea  of  going  to  see  the 
riots,  just  by  way  of  a  lark,  had  occurred  to  the  zinc-worker. 
He  did  not  care  a  hang  for  the  Republic,  or  Bonaparte,  or  the 
rest  of  them ;  only  he  liked  the  smell  of  powder,  and  the 
firing  amused  him.  However,  he  would  surely  have  been 
caught  behind  a  barricade,  if  the  blacksmith  had  not 
happened  to  be  there  just  in  time  to  protect  him  with  his 
big  body,  and  help  him  to  get  away.  Goujet,  as  they  re- 
ascended  the  Rue  du  Faubourg-Poissonniere,  walked  quickly, 
with  a  grave  look  on  his  face.  He  went  in  for  politics,  and 
was  a  Republican,  desiring  as  he  did  the  triumph  of  justice 
and  the  happiness  of  all.  However,  he  had  not  shouldered  a 
musket.  And  he  gave  his  reasons  :  the  people — the  toiling 
masses — were  tired  of  burning  their  fingers  in  drawing  the 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  for  the  middle  classes.  The  events 
of  February  and  June  '48  had  been  precious  lessons,  so  in 
future  the  Faubourgs  would  leave  Paris  to  do  whatever  it 
thought  best.  Then,  when  he  and  Coupeau  had  reached  the 
high  ground  in  the  Rue  des  Poissonniers,  Goujet  turned  his 
head,  and  looked  down  upon  the  city.  All  the  same,  some 
sorry  work  was  being  done  there ;  the  people  might  some 
day  regret  having  stood  by  with  folded  arms.  But  Coupeau 
jeered  at  the  stupidity  of  the  jack- asses  who  risked  their 
skins  merely  that  the  idle  beggars  of  the  Chamber  might 
retain  their  income  of  five-and-twenty  francs  a  day.  That 
evening  the  Coupeaus  invited  the  Goujets  to  dinner  ;  and,  at 
dessert,  Young  Cassis  and  Golden-Mug  kissed  each  other 

h2 


loo  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

twice  on  the  cheek,  thus  sealing  their  friendship  for  life  and 
death. 

During  three  years  the  humdrum  existence  of  the  two 
families  continued,  on  either  side  of  the  landing,  unmarked 
by  any  important  event.  Gervaise  had  managed  to  bring  up 
her  little  girl  without  the  loss  of  more  than  two  days'  work 
a  week.  She  was  becoming  a  capital  clear  starcher,  and 
earned  as  much  ^  as  three  francs  a  day.  She  had  accordingly 
decided  to  send  Etienne,  now  close  on  eight  years  old,  to  a 
httle  school  in  the  Rue  de  Chartres,  where  she  paid  five 
francs  a  month  for  him.  In  spite  of  the  burden  of  the  two 
children,  the  Coupeaus  put  twenty  or  thirty  francs  a  month 
into  the  savings  bank.  When  their  savings  amounted  to  six 
hundred  francs,  the  young  woman  was  so  mastered  by  an 
ambitious  dream  that  she  could  scarcely  sleep.  She  wanted 
to  set  up  in  business  for  herself,  take  a  small  shop,  and  have 
workwomen  in  her  turn.  She  had  calculated  everything. 
In  twenty  years  time,  if  all  went  well,  they  would  have  a  little 
income,  on  which  they  might  retire  somewhere  in  the 
country.  However,  she  hardly  dared  to  run  the  risk.  To  give 
herself  time  for  reflection,  she  would  just  say  that  she  was 
looking  for  a  shop.  Meantime  the  money  was  in  no  danger 
at  the  savings  bank ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  increasing.  In 
all  three  years  she  had  satisfied  but  one  of  her  desires — she 
had  bought  herself  an  ornamental  clock,  in  a  rosewood  case, 
with  twisted  columns  and  a  gilded  brass  pendulum — and  even 
this  was  to  be  paid  for  in  a  year,  by  instalments  of  twenty 
sous  every  Monday.  She  got  quite  angry  whenever  Coupeau 
talked  of  winding  it  up.  She  alone  took  off  the  glass  cover, 
and  dusted  the  columns  with  as  much  reverence  as  if  the  mar- 
ble top  of  her  chest  of  drawers  had  become  transformed  into  a 
chapel.  Under  the  glass  cover,  behind  the  clock,  she  hid  the 
savings-bank  book  ;  and  often,  when  she  was  dreaming  of 
her  shop,  she  would  forget  herself  in  front  of  the  dial,  gazing 
at  the  turning  hands  as  though  she  were  awaiting  some 
solemn  and  particular  minute  to  come  to  a  decision. 

The  Coupeaus  went  out  nearly  every  Sunday  with  the 
Goujets.  These  were  pleasant  little  excursions  when  without 
any  fuss  they  would  sometimes  partake  of  fried  fish  at  Saint- 
Ouen,  and  sometimes  of  a  rabbit  at  Vincennes,  in  the  garden 
of  some  eating-house.  The  men  drank  sufficient  to  quench 
their  thirst,  and  returned  home  as  sober  as  might  be,  giving 
their  arms  to  the  ladies.    And  in  the  evening  before  going  to 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  loi 

bed  the  two  families  made  up  the  account,  and  each  paid 
half  the  expenses  ;  never  was  there  the  slightest  quarrel  about 
a  sou  more  or  less.  However,  the  Lorilleux  were  jealous  of 
the  Goujets.  They  thought  it  very  funny  that  Young  Cassis 
and  the  Hobbler  should  for  ever  be  going  with  strangers,  when 
they  had  relatives.  Ah,  well  1  they  did  not  seem  to  care  a 
tinker's  curse  for  their  relatives  I  Ever  since  they  had  been 
able  to  put  a  few  coppers  by  they  had  given  themselves  no 
end  of  airs.  Madame  Lorilleux,  greatly  annoyed  at  seeing  her 
brother  escape  her  influence,  recommenced  her  abuse  of  Ger- 
vaise.  Madame  Lerat,  on  the  contrary,  took  the  young  woman's 
part,  defending  her  by  telling  some  most  extraordinary  stories 
— as  of  assaults  at  night-time  on  the  Boulevard,  from  which 
she  made  her  escape  like  the  heroine  of  some  melodrama, 
slapping  the  faces  of  her  cowardly  aggressors.  As  for  Mother 
Coupeau,  she  tried  to  make  everybody  good  friends  in  order 
that  she  might  be  well  received  by  all  her  children.  Her  sight 
was  failing  her  more  and  more,  she  had  only  one  charing  job 
left  her,  and  she  was  glad  to  get  an  occasional  five  franc  piece 
from  one  or  the  other. 

On  the  very  day  when  Nana  completed  her  third  year, 
Coupeau,  on  returning  home  in  the  evening,  found  Gervaise 
quite  upset.  She  refused  to  talk  about  it ;  there  was  nothing 
at  all  the  matter  with  her,  she  said.  But,  as  she  laid  the  table 
all  wrong,  and  paused  with  the  plates  in  her  hands,  absorbed 
in  deep  reflection,  her  husband  insisted  upon  knowing  what 
the  trouble  was. 

*  Well !  it's  this,'  she  ended  by  owning,  *  the  little  draper's 
shop,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  is  to  let.  I  saw  the  bill 
up  only  an  hour  ago,  when  I  went  to  buy  some  cotton.  It  gave 
me  quite  a  turn.' 

The  shop  in  question  was  a  very  decent  one,  and  formed 
part  of  that  big  house  where,  in  former  days,  they  had  so  often 
dreamt  of  living.  There  was  the  shop,  a  back  room,  and  two 
other  rooms  to  the  right  and  left ;  in  short,  just  what  they  re- 
quired. The  rooms  were  rather  small,  but  well  placed  Only, 
Gervaise  considered  the  rent  too  high,  for  the  landlord,  talked 
of  five  hundred  francs  a  year. 

*  So  you've  been  over  the  place,  and  asked  the  rent  ? '  said 
Coupeau. 

'  Oh  I  only  out  of  curiosity,  you  know  I  '  she  replied,  affect- 
ing an  air  of  indifference.  *  One  looks  about,  and  goes  in 
wherever  a  bill's  up — that  doesn't  pledge  one  to  anything. 


102  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

But  that  shop  is  altogether  too  dear.  Besides,  it  would  per- 
haps be  foolish  of  me  to  set  up  in  business.' 

However,  after  dinner  she  again  referred  to  the  draper's 
shop.  She  drew  a  plan  of  the  place  on  the  margin  of  a  news- 
paper. And,  little  by  little,  she  talked  of  it  in  detail,  estimat- 
ing the  depth  of  the  recesses  and  arranging  the  rooms,  as 
though  she  were  going  to  move  all  her  furniture  thither  on 
the  morrow.  At  this  Coupeau,  seeing  how  much  she  wanted 
to  take  the  place,  advised  her  to  do  so ;  she  would  certainly 
never  find  anything  decent  under  five  hundred  francs  ;  besides, 
they  might  perhaps  get  a  reduction.  The  only  objection  would 
be  living  in  the  same  house  as  the  Lorilleux,  whom  she  could 
not  bear.  But  she  protested  that  she  disliked  nobody  ;  in  the 
warmth  of  her  desire  she  even  stood  up  for  the  Lorilleux : 
they  were  not  spiteful  at  heart — they  would  all  get  on  very 
well  together.  And,  even  after  retiring  for  the  night,  when 
Coupeau  had  fallen  fast  asleep,  Gervaise  still  continued  to  plan 
an  arrangement  of  the  rooms,  without,  however,  having  finally 
decided  to  take  the  shop. 

On  the  morrow,  when  she  was  alone,  she  could  not  resist 
an  impulse  to  remove  the  glass  cover  from  the  clock,  and  peep 
at  the  bank  book.  To  think  that  her  shop  was  there,  in  those 
dirty  leaves,  covered  with  ugly  writing  I  Then,  before  going 
to  work,  she  consulted  Madame  Goujet,  who  highly  approved 
her  project  of  setting  up  in  business  for  herself;  with  a 
husband  like  hers,  a  good  fellow  who  did  not  drink,  it  was  cer- 
tain that  she  would  get  on,  and  not  have  her  earnings  squan- 
dered. At  the  luncheon  hour,  Gervaise  even  called  on  the 
Lorilleux  to  ask  their  advice  ;  for  she  did  not  wish  it  to  appear 
that  she  was  hiding  things  from  the  family.  Madame  Loril- 
leux, on  hearing  her,  was  quite  aghast.  Whatl  was  the 
Hobbler  going  to  have  a  shop  now  I  And,  with  her  heart 
bursting  with  spite,  she  stammered  and  dissimulated,  obliged 
as  she  was  to  pretend  herself  pleased.  Yes,  no  doubt  the  shop 
was  a  convenient  one — Gervaise  was  right  in  taking  it.  How- 
ever, when  she  had  somewhat  recovered,  she  and  her  husband 
talked  of  the  dampness  of  the  courtyard,  and  the  poor  light  of 
the  rooms  on  the  ground  floor.  Oh  I  it  was  a  good  place  for 
rheumatism.  Yet,  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  take  it, 
their  observations,  of  course,  would  not  make  her  alter  her 
decision. 

That  evening,  Gervaise  frankly  owned,  with  a  laugh,  that 
she  would  have  fallen  ill  if  she  had  been  prevented  from 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  103 

having  the  shop.  Nevertheless,  before  saying  *  It's  done  ! '  she 
wished  to  take  Coupeau  to  see  the  place,  and  try  to  obtain  a 
reduction  in  the  rent. 

*  Very  well,  then,  to-morrow,  if  you  Hke,*  said  her  husband. 
*  You  can  come  and  fetch  me  towards  six  o'clock  at  the  house 
where  I'm  working,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Nation,  and  we'll  take 
the  Eue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  on  our  way  home.' 

Coupeau  was  then  finishing  the  roofing  of  a  new  three- 
Btoried  house.  It  so  happened  that  he  was  to  fix  the  last 
sheets  of  zinc  that  day.  As  the  roof  was  almost  flat,  he  had 
set  his  bench  on  it,  a  wide  shutter  resting  on  two  trestles. 
A  beautiful  May  sun  was  setting,  giving  a  golden  hue  to  the 
chimney-pots.  And,  right  up  at  the  top,  against  the  clear 
sky,  the  workman  quietly  cut  his  zinc  with  a  big  pair  of 
shears,  leaning  the  while  over  his  bench,  just  Uke  a  tailor 
cutting  out  a  pair  of  trousers  in  his  shop.  Near  the  wall  of 
the  adjoining  house,  his  boy,  a  youngster  of  seventeen,  thin 
and  fair,  kept  the  fire  of  the  chafing  dish  blazing  by  the  aid  of 
a  huge  pair  of  bellows,  each  puff  of  which  raised  a  cloud  of 
sparks. 

*  Hi  1  Zidore,  put  in  the  irons  1  *  cried  Coupeau. 

The  boy  stuck  the  soldering  irons  into  the  midst  of  the 
charcoal,  which  appeared  of  a  pale  rose  colour  in  the  daylight. 
Then  he  resumed  blowing.  Coupeau  held  the  last  sheet  of 
zinc.  It  had  to  be  placed  at  the  edge  of  the  roof,  near  the 
gutter-pipe ;  there  was  an  abrupt  slant  there,  and  the  gaping 
hollow  of  the  street  opened  beneath.  The  zinc-worker,  how- 
ever, as  much  at  home  there  as  in  his  own  rooms,  stepped 
forward  dragging  his  list  shoes  and  whistling  the  air  of 
'  HaUo  1  the  little  lambs.'  And  on  reaching  the  vacant 
space  he  let  himself  glide,  and  then,  supporting  himself  with 
one  knee  against  a  chimney-stack,  remained  halfway  from  the 
edge  of  the  roof.  One  of  his  legs  dangled.  When  be  leant 
back  to  call  that  young  viper,  Zidore,  he  held  on  to  a  corner 
of  the  masonry,  on  account  of  the  street  beneath  him. 

*  You  confounded  dawdler  !  Give  me  the  irons  !  It's  no 
use  looking  up  in  the  air,  you  skinny  beggar  1  the  larks  won't 
tumble  into  your  mouth  already  roasted ! ' 

But  Zidore  did  not  hurry.  He  was  interested  in  the 
neighbouring  roofs,  and  particularly  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  which 
rose  from  the  depths  of  Paris,  towards  Crenelle  ;  it  was  very 
likely  a  fire.  However,  he  came  at  last,  and  lying  on  his 
stomach  with  his  head  over  the  aperture  he  passed  the  irons 


104  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

to  Coupeau.  Then  the  latter  began  to  solder  the  sheet  of 
metal.  He  now  squatted,  now  stretched  himself,  always 
managing  to  keep  his  balance,  sometimes  seated  all  awry, 
at  others  standing  on  the  tip  of  a  foot,  often  merely  holding  on 
by  a  finger.  He  showed  wonderful  assurance,  the  devilish 
pluck  of  one  who  was  familiar  with  danger,  and  braved  it.  It 
knew  him.  It  was  the  street  that  was  afraid,  not  he.  And 
as  he  had  kept  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  he  turned  every  now 
and  then  to  spit  down  upon  the  pavement. 

*  Hallo  I  Madame  Boche  ! '  he  suddenly  cried,  *  hi,  Madame 
Boche  !  '        ^ 

He  had  just  caught  sight  of  the  doorkeeper  crossing  the 
road.  She  raised  her  head  and  recognised  him,  and  a  conver- 
sation ensued.  She  had  her  hands  under  her  apron,  and  her 
nose  raised  in  the  air,  while  he,  now  erect,  with  his  left  arm 
passed  round  a  chimney-pot,  leant  over. 

*  Have  you  seen  my  wife  ?  '  he  asked. 

*No,  I  haven't,'  replied  the  doorkeeper.  *Is  she  this 
way?' 

*  She's  coming  to  fetch  me.  And  are  they  all  well  at 
home  ? ' 

*  Why,  yes,  thanks  ;  I'm  the  most  ill,  as  you  see.  I'm 
going  to  the  Chaussee  Clignancourt  to  buy  a  small  leg  of 
mutton.  The  butcher  near  the  Moulin-Kouge  only  charges 
sixteen  sous  a  pound.' 

They  raised  their  voices,  because  a  vehicle  was  passing 
along  the  wide,  deserted  Rue  de  la  Nation.  Their  words, 
loud  as  they  were  shouted,  had  only  brought  a  little  old  woman 
to  her  window,  where  she  remained,  leaning  over  the  sill 
and  giving  herself  the  treat  of  a  grand  emotion  by  watching 
that  man  on  the  roof  over  the  way,  as  though  she  indeed 
expected,  from  one  minute  to  another,  to  see  him  fall. 

*  Well !  good-evening,'  cried  Madame  Boche.  *  I  won't 
disturb  you.' 

Coupeau  turned  round,  and  once  more  took  the  iron  that 
Zidore  was  holding  for  him.  But  just  as  the  doorkeeper  was 
moving  off,  she  caught  sight  of  Gervaise  holding  Nana  by  the 
hand  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  She  was  already  raising 
her  head  to  tell  the  zinc-worker,  when  the  young  woman,  by 
an  energetic  gesture  closed  her  mouth.  And  then,  in  a  low 
voice,  so  as  not  to  be  heard  up  there,  Gervaise  told  her  of  her 
fears.  She  dreaded  lest  by  suddenly  showing  herself  she 
should  give  her  husband  a  shock  which  might  make  him  lose 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  105 

his  balance.  During  four  years  she  had  only  once  been  to 
fetch  him  at  his  work.  That  day  was  the  second  time.  She 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  it,  she  said  ;  her  blood  turned  cold 
when  she  beheld  her  man  between  heaven  and  earth,  in 
places  where  even  the  sparrows  would  not  venture. 

*  No  doubt,  it's  not  pleasant,'  murmured  Madame  Boche. 
*  My  husband's  a  tailor,  so  I  have  none  of  these  terrors.* 

*  If  you  only  knew,'  said  Gervaise  again,  *  in  the  early 
days  I  had  frights  from  morning  to  night.  I  was  always 
seeing  him  on  a  stretcher,  with  his  head  smashed.  Now,  I 
don't  think  of  it  so  much.  One  gets  used  to  everything. 
Bread  must  be  earned.  All  the  same  it's  a  precious  dear  loaf, 
for  one  risks  one's  bones  more  often  than  is  fair.' 

Then  she  left  off  speaking,  and  cast  her  skirt  round  Nana, 
for  she  feared  a  cry  from  the  little  one.  And,  very  pale,  she 
looked  up,  in  spite  of  herself.  At  that  moment  Coupeau  was 
soldering  the  extreme  edge  of  the  sheet  close  to  the  guttering ; 
he  slid  down  as  far  as  possible,  but  without  being  able  to 
reach  the  edge.  Then  he  risked  himself  with  those  slow 
movements  peculiar  to  workmen.  For  an  instant  he  was  half 
over  the  pavement,  no  longer  holding  on,  so  absorbed  he  was 
in  his  work  ;  and,  from  below,  one  could  see  the  little  white 
flame  of  the  solder  frizzling  up  from  beneath  the  carefully 
appHed  iron.  Gervaise,  speechless,  her  throat  contracted  by 
anguish,  had  clasped  her  hands  and  was  holding  them  aloft 
in  a  mechanical  gesture  of  prayer.  But  she  suddenly  breathed 
freely  and  noisily,  for  Coupeau,  without  hurrying  himself, 
taking  time,  indeed,  to  spit  once  more  into  the  street,  had  again 
gone  up  the  roof. 

*  Ah  1  ah  1  so  you've  been  playing  the  spy  on  me,*  he  cried 
gaily,  on  seeing  her.  *  She's  been  making  a  stupid  of  herself^ 
eh,  Madame  Boche  ?  she  wouldn't  call  to  me.  Wait  a  bit,  1 
shall  have  finished  in  ten  minutes.' 

All  that  now  remained  for  him  to  do  was  to  put  on  a 
chimney  hood — a  mere  nothing.  The  laundress  and  the  door- 
keeper waited  on  the  pavement,  discussing  the  neighbourhood, 
and  giving  an  eye  to  Nana,  to  prevent  her  from  dabbling  in 
the  gutter,  where  she  wanted  to  look  for  little  fishes.  How- 
ever, both  women  kept  on  glancing  at  the  roof,  smiling  and 
nodding  their  heads,  as  though  to  imply  that  they  were  not 
losing  patience.  In  like  way,  the  old  woman  opposite  had 
not  quitted  her  window,  but  continued  watching  the  man  and 
waiting. 


io6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

*  Whatever  can  she  have  to  spy  at,  that  old  she-goat  ? ' 
said  Madame  Boche.     *  What  a  wicked  old  face  she  has  ! ' 

One  could  hear  the  loud  voice  of  the  zinc-worker  singing 
up  above,  *  Ah  1  'tis  nice  to  gather  strawberries  I  ' — a  then 
popular  song.  Bending  over  his  bench,  he  was  now  artistically 
cutting  out  his  zinc.  Having  traced  a  line  with  his  com- 
passes he  detached  a  large  fan-shaped  piece  with  the  aid  of  a 
pair  of  curved  shears  ;  then  with  his  hammer  lightly  bent 
this  fan  into  the  form  of  a  pointed  mushroom.  Zidore  was 
again  blowing  the  charcoal  in  the  chafing-dish.  The  sun  was 
setting  behind  the  house  with  a  brilliant  rosy  radiance,  which 
slowly  paled  and  turned  to  a  delicate  lilac.  And,  at  this 
quiet  hour  of  the  day,  right  up  amid  the  sky,  the  silhouettes  of 
the  two  workmen,  with  the  dark  line  of  the  bench,  and  the 
strange  profile  of  the  bellows,  stood  out  looking  inordinately 
large,  against  the  limpid  background  of  the  atmosphere. 

When  the  hood  had  been  got  into  shape,  Coupeau  called 
out :  *  Zidore  !  the  irons  I  * 

But  Zidore  had  disappeared.  The  zinc-worker  swore,  and 
looked  about  for  him,  even  calling  to  him  through  the  open 
skylight  of  the  loft.  At  length  he  discovered  him  on  a 
neighbouring  roof,  two  houses  off.  The  young  rogue  was 
taking  a  walk,  exploring  the  environs,  his  fair  scanty  locks 
meantime  blowing  in  the  breeze  and  his  eyes  blinking  at  sight 
of  the  immensity  of  Paris. 

'  I  say,  you  lazy-bones  !  Do  you  think  you're  having  a  day 
in  the  country  ?  '  asked  Coupeau,  in  a  rage.  *  You're  like 
Monsieur  Beranger,  composing  verses,  perhaps !  Just  you 
give  me  those  irons  I  Did  any  one  ever  see  such  a  thing  1 
strolling  about  on  the  house-tops  !  You'd  better  bring  your 
sweetheart,  and  declare  your  love  to  her  I  Will  you  give  me 
those  irons  ?  you  impudent  little  shirker  1  * 

He  finished  his  soldering,  and  called  to  Gervaise :  *  There, 
it's  done.     I'm  coming  down.' 

The  chimney-pot  to  which  he  had  to  fix  the  cowl  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  roof.  Gervaise,  who  no  longer  felt  uneasy, 
continued  to  smile  while  watching  his  movements.  Nana, 
amused  all  of  a  sudden  by  the  sight  of  her  father,  clapped  her 
little  hands.  She  had  seated  herself  on  the  pavement,  in 
order  to  look  up  the  better. 

*  Papa  !  papa  1 '  she  called  with  all  her  might.  *  Papa  ! 
just  look ! ' 

The  zinc-worker    wished  to  lean  forward,  but  his  foot 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  107 

slipped.  Then  suddenly,  stupidly,  like  a  cat  with  its  legs 
entangled,  he  rolled  along  descending  the  gentle  slope  of  the 
roof  without  being  able  to  save  himself. 

*  Good  Lord  I '  he  gasped  in  a  stifled  voice. 

And  he  fell.  His  body  described  a  gentle  curve,  turned 
twice  over  on  itself,  and  came  smashing  into  the  middle 
of  the  street  with  the  dull  thud  of  a  bundle  of  clothes 
thrown  from  on  high. 

Gervaise,  stupefied,  her  throat  rent  by  one  great  cry, 
remained  there  holding  up  her  arms.  Some  passers-by 
hastened  to  the  spot ;  a  crowd  soon  formed.  Madame  Boche, 
utterly  upset,  her  knees  bending  beneath  her,  took  Nana  in 
her  arms,  to  cover  her  head  and  prevent  her  from  seeing. 
Meanwhile,  the  little  old  woman  opposite  quietly  closed  her 
window,  as  though  satisfied. 

Four  men  ended  by  carrying  Coupeau  into  a  chemist's 
shop,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Poissonniers  ;  and  he  re- 
mained there  on  a  blanket,  whilst  they  sent  to  the  Lariboisiere 
hospital  for  a  stretcher.  He  still  breathed,  but  the  chemist 
gently  shook  his  head  as  if  he  thought  recovery  impossible. 
Gervaise  was  now  kneeling  on  the  floor,  sobbing  continuously, 
bathed  in  tears,  blinded  and  stupefied.  With  a  mechanical 
movement  she  thrust  out  her  hands  and  gently  felt  her 
husband's  limbs.  Then  she  drew  them  back,  looking  at 
the  chemist,  who  had  forbidden  her  to  touch  him ;  and  yet, 
a  few  seconds  later,  she  did  so  again,  unable  to  resist  her 
desire  to  feel  if  he  were  still  warm,  and  thinking  that  she  did 
him  good.  When  the  stretcher  at  length  arrived,  and  they 
talked  of  starting  for  the  hospital,  she  sprang  up,  saying 
violently  :  *  No,  no,  not  to  the  hospital  I  We  live  in  the  Rue 
Neuve  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.' 

It  was  useless  for  them  to  explain  to  her  that  the  illness 
would  cost  her  a  deal  of  money,  should  she  take  her  husband 
home.  She  obstinately  repeated  :  '  Rue  Neuve  de  la  Goutte- 
d'Or;  I  will  show  you  the  house.  What  can  it  matter  to 
you  ?  I've  got  money.  He's  my  husband,  isn't  he  ?  He's 
mine,  and  I'll  have  him.' 

So  they  had  to  take  Coupeau  to  his  own  home.  When 
the  stretcher  was  carried  through  the  crowd  which  was 
pressing  against  the  chemist's  shop,  the  women  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood talked  excitedly  of  Gervaise.  She  hmped,  no  doubt, 
but  all  the  same  she  was  a  plucky  one.  She  would  be  sure  to 
save  her  man ;  whereas  at  the  hospital  the  doctors  quietly 


io8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

despatched  those  patients  whom  they  found  in  an  over-dilapi- 
dated condition,  so  that  they  might  not  have  the  bother  of 
curing  them.^  However,  Madame  Boche,  after  taking  Nana 
home  with  her,  returned  and  gave  the  others  her  account  of 
the  accident,  entering  into  interminable  details,  still  thrilled 
with  emotion. 

*  I  was  going  to  buy  a  leg  of  mutton  ;  I  was  there,  I 
saw  him  fall,'  she  repeated.  *  It  was  all  through  the  Httle 
one ;  he  turned  to  look  at  her,  and  bang  !  Ah  1  good 
heavens !  I  never  want  to  see  such  a  sight  again.  How- 
ever, I  must  be  off  to  get  my  leg  of  mutton.' 

For  a  week  Coupeau  remained  in  a  very  critical  con- 
dition. The  family,  the  neighbours,  everybody,  expected  to 
see  him  die  at  any  moment.  The  doctor— a  very  expensive 
one,  who  charged  five  francs  for  each  visit — apprehended  in- 
ternal injuries,  and  these  words  filled  every  one  with  fear. 
It  was  said  in  the  neighbourhood  that  the  zinc-worker's 
heart  had  been  '  unhinged  '  by  the  shock.  Gervaise,  alone, 
pale  from  her  nights  of  watching,  serious  and  resolute, 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  Her  man's  right  leg  was  broken, 
every  one  knew  that ;  it  would  be  set  for  him,  and  that  was 
all.  As  for  the  rest,  the  injured  heart,  that  was  nothing. 
She  would  mend  his  heart  for  him.  She  knew  how  to  mend 
hearts — with  care,  cleanliness,  and  solid  affection.  And  she 
evinced  superb  confidence,  certain  as  she  felt  of  curing  him, 
merely  by  remaining  with  him  and  touching  him  with  her 
hands  in  his  hours  of  fever.  She  did  not  doubt  for  a  minute. 
For  a  whole  week  she  remained  up,  speaking  but  httle,  ab- 
sorbed in  her  obstinate  determination  to  save  him,  forgetting 
her  children,  the  street,  the  entire  city.  On  the  ninth  day, 
when  the  doctor  at  last  answered  for  his  patient's  recovery, 
she  fell  upon  a  chair,  her  legs  sinking,  her  back  almost 
broken,  her  face  bathed  in  tears.  That  night  she  consented 
to  sleep  for  a  couple  of  hours,  with  her  head  resting  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed. 

Coupeau' s  accident  had  created  quite  a  commotion  in 
the  family.  Mother  Coupeau  passed  the  nights  with  Ger- 
vaise ;  but  as  early  as  nine  o'clock  she  dozed  off  on  her 
chair.  Then,  every  evening,  on  returning  from  work, 
Madame  Lerat  made  a  long  round  out  of  her  way  to  inquire 

^  This  horrible  idea  is  not  confined  to  the  Parisian  proletariat.  I 
have  heard  otherwise  sensible  members  of  the  London  working  classes 
express  much  the  same  foolish  opinion. 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  109 

how  her  brother  was  getting  on.  At  first,  too,  the  Lorilleux 
had  called  two  or  three  times  a  day,  offering  to  sit  up  and 
watch,  and  even  bringing  an  easy-chair  for  Gervaise.  But 
before  long  disputes  arose  as  to  the  proper  way  of  nursing 
invalids.  Madame  Lorilleux  asserted  that  she  had  saved  the 
lives  of  quite  enough  persons  to  know  how  to  set  about  it ; 
and  she  also  accused  the  young  woman  of  behaving  roughly 
to  her,  and  of  keeping  her  away  from  her  brother's  bedside. 
Of  course,  said  she  to  others,  the  Hobbler  was  right  in  wish- 
ing to  save  Coupeau  ;  for  there  was  no  doubt  that  if  she  had 
not  gone  to  disturb  him  in  the  Eue  de  la  Nation,  he  would 
never  have  fallen.  Only,  by  the  way  she  went  to  work,  she 
was  certain  to  finish  him  off. 

When  Gervaise  saw  that  Coupeau  was  out  of  danger, 
she  ceased  guarding  his  bedside  with  such  jealous  fierceness. 
They  could  no  longer  kill  him  now,  so  she  let  people  ap- 
proach without  mistrust.  The  family  then  invaded  the  room. 
Convalescence  was  bound  to  be  of  long  duration ;  the  doctor 
had  talked  of  four  months.  Then,  during  the  long  hours 
when  the  zinc- worker  slept,  the  Lorilleux  spoke  of  Gervaise 
as  of  a  fool.  She  had  done  a  smart  thing  in  keeping  her 
husband  at  home.  They  would  have  cured  him  twice  as 
quickly  at  the  hospital.  Lorilleux  would  have  liked  to  get 
ill,  to  catch  some  trifling  complaint  or  other,  just  to  show  her 
that  he  did  not  for  a  moment  hesitate  to  go  to  Lariboisiere. 
Madame  Lorilleux  knew  a  lady  who  had  just  come  from  there. 
Well,  she  had  been  given  chicken  to  eat  morning  and  night. 
And  then  the  pair  of  them,  for  the  twentieth  time,  began  to 
calculate  what  the  four  months'  convalescence  would  cost  the 
little  home.  First  of  all  came  the  lost  days  of  work,  then 
the  doctor,  the  medicine,  and,  later  on,  the  good  wine  and  the 
juicy  underdone  meat.  If  the  Coupeaus  should  only  exhaust 
their  savings,  they  might  think  themselves  precious  lucky ; 
but  in  all  likelihood  they  would  fall  into  debt  as  well.  That, 
however,  was  their  business.  In  any  case,  they  must  not 
count  on  the  family,  which  was  not  rich  enough  to  keep  an 
invalid  at  home.  It  was  so  much  the  worse  for  the  Hobbler, 
was  it  not  ?  She  should  have  done  as  others  did — have 
allowed  her  husband  to  be  carried  to  the  hospital.  Well,  she 
was  perfect  now;  not  content  with  her  other  faihngs,  she 
showed  herself  *  stuck-up.' 

One  night  Madame  Lorilleux  had  the  spitefulness  to  sud- 


no  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

denly  inquire  :   *  Well !  and  your  shop,  when  are  you  going 
to  take  it  ?  ' 

*  Yes,'  chuckled  Lorilleux,  *the  doorkeeper's  still  waiting 
for  you.' 

Gervaise  was  overcome.  She  had  completely  forgotten 
the  shop  ;  but  she  perceived  the  wicked  delight  of  those 
people,  at  the  thought  that  she  would  no  longer  be  able  to 
take  it.  From  that  evening,  in  fact,  they  watched  for  every 
opportunity  to  twit  her  about  her  hopeless  dream.  When- 
ever anyone  spoke  of  some  impossible  wish,  they  would  say 
it  might  be  realised  on  the  day  when  Gervaise  started  in 
business,  in  a  beautiful  shop  opening  on  to  the  street.  And 
behind  her  back  they  would  laugh  till  their  sides  split.  She 
did  not  like  to  entertain  such  an  evil  supposition,  but, 
really,  the  Lorilleux  now  seemed  to  be  very  pleased  at 
Coupeau's  accident,  since  it  prevented  her  from  setting  up 
as  a  laundress  in  the  Eue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or. 

Then,  on  her  side,  she  also  wished  to  laugh  and  show 
them  how  willingly  she  parted  with  money  for  the  sake  of 
curing  her  husband.  Each  time  that  she  took  the  savings- 
bank  book  from  under  the  glass  clock-cover  in  their  pre- 
sence, she  would  gaily  say :  '  I'm  going  out ;  I'm  going  to 
take  my  shop.' 

She  had  been  unwilling  to  withdraw  the  money  all  at 
once.  She  apphed  for  it  by  a  hundred  francs  at  a  time, 
so  as  not  to  keep  such  a  pile  of  gold  and  silver  in  her 
drawer ;  and,  moreover,  she  vaguely  hoped  for  some  miracle, 
some  sudden  recovery,  which  would  make  it  unnecessary 
for  them  to  withdraw  the  entire  sum.  At  each  journey  to 
the  savings  bank,  on  her  return  home,  she  calculated,  on  a 
piece  of  paper,  how  much  money  they  still  had  there.  It 
was  merely  for  the  sake  of  knowing  exactly  how  she  stood. 
However  much  the  pile  diminished,  she,  in  her  sensible  way 
and  with  her  quiet  smile,  still  kept  a  strict  account  of  the 
collapse  of  their  savings.  Was  it  not  already  a  consolation 
that  the  money  should  be  put  to  such  good  use,  that  she 
should  have  had  it  handy  at  the  time  of  their  misfortune  ? 
And  without  a  regret,  her  account  having  been  brought  up 
to  date,  she  would  carefully  replace  the  book  behind  the 
clock,  under  the  glass  cover. 

The  Goujets  were  very  kind  to  Gervaise  during  Coupeau's 
illness.  Madame  Goujet  was  entirely  at  her  disposal.  She 
never  went  out  without  asking  her  if  she  wanted  any  sugar, 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  iii 

or  butter,  or  salt  fetched  ;  whenever  she  made  any  fresh  soup 
she  always  offered  her  the  first  plateful,  and  whenever  she 
saw  her  very  busy  she  even  looked  after  her  cooking  or 
helped  her  to  wash-up.  Every  morning,  too,  Goujet  took  the 
young  woman's  pails  and  filled  them  at  the  fountain  in  the 
Rue  des  Poissonniers ;  for  this  was  a  saving  of  two  sous.^ 
Then,  after  dinner,  when  Coupeau's  relatives  did  not  invade 
the  room,  the  Goujets  would  come  and  keep  the  young  couple 
company.  Until  ten  o'clock,  the  blacksmith  would  sit  there, 
smoking  his  pipe  and  watching  Gervaise  hovering  round 
the  invalid.  He  did  not  speak  ten  words  the  whole  evening. 
With  his  big  fair  face  set  above  his  giant  shoulders,  he 
gazed  at  her  with  emotion  as  she  poured  the  diet-drink 
into  a  cup,  or  noiselessly  stirred  the  sugar.  When,  while 
arranging  the  bed-clothes,  she  encouraged  Coupeau  with  her 
gentle  voice,  he  felt  deeply  affected.  Never  before  had  he 
seen  such  a  plucky  little  woman.  It  was  no  dishonour  to  her 
if  she  did  limp  ;  it  rather  added  merit  to  her  conduct  in 
tiring  herself  out  all  day  in  waiting  upon  her  husband. 
There  was  no  denying  it :  she  did  not  even  sit  down  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  to  eat  her  meals.  She  was  constantly 
running  to  the  chemist's,  attending  to  very  unpleasant 
things,  working  tremendously  hard  to  keep  that  room,  in 
which  everything  was  done,  as  neat  and  clean  as  usual.  And 
withal  she  never  complained,  but  was  always  amiable,  even 
on  nights  when,  from  excessive  fatigue,  she  was  falling  asleep 
where  she  stood,  with  her  eyes  open.  And  the  blacksmith, 
in  that  atmosphere  of  devotion,  amidst  those  drugs  lying 
about  on  the  furniture,  began  to  feel  great  affection  for 
Gervaise,  as  he  beheld  her  thus  loving  and  nursing  Coupeau 
with  all  her  heart. 

'  Well !  old  man,  you're  mended  at  last,'  he  said,  one  day, 
to  the  zinc-worker.  '  I  never  thought  it  would  be  otherwise ; 
your  wife  is  Providence  itself.' 

He  himself  was  going  to  marry.  At  least,  his  mother  had 
found  a  very  suitable  young  girl  for  him,  a  lace-mender  like  her- 
self, whom  she  longed  to  see  him  take  to  wife.  In  order  not 
to  grieve  her,  he  had  said '  Yes,'  and  it  had  even  been  settled  that 
the  wedding  should  take  place  early  in  September.     The  money 

'  In  those  days  water  was  laid  on  in  only  a  few  of  the  finer  Paris 
houses  ;  and  even  in  those  instances  there  was  simply  a  tap  in  the  yard. 
The  great  bulk  of  the  population  v  a  dependent  on  the  water-carriers, 
who  came  round  with  carts  and  charged  a  sou  a  pailful. 


112  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

for  starting  housekeeping  had  long  been  lying  in  the  savings 
bank.  Nevertheless,  he  would  jerk  his  head  whenever 
Gervaise  spoke  to  him  of  his  marriage,  and  murmur,  in  his 
slow  voice  :  '  AH  women  are  not  like  you,  Madame  Coupeau. 
If  they  were,  one  would  want  to  marry  ten  of  them.' 

At  the  end  of  two  months,  however,  Coupeau  was  able  to 
get  up.  He  merely  went  from  the  bed  to  the  window,  and 
even  then  Gervaise  had  to  support  him.  And  by  the  window 
he  would  sit  down  in  the  easy-chair  that  the  Lorilleux  had 
brought,  with  his  right  leg  stretched  out  on  a  stool.  This 
jester,  who  had  been  wont  to  laugh  at  the  people  who  slipped 
down  on  frosty  days,  felt  greatly  put  out  by  his  accident.  He 
had  no  philosophy.  He  had  spent  those  two  months  in  bed, 
cursing,  and  worrying  the  people  about  him.  It  was  not  an 
existence,  really,  to  have  to  be  all  the  time  on  one's  back  with 
a  leg  tied  up  and  as  stiff  as  a  sausage.  Ah !  he  certainly 
knew  the  ceiling  by  heart ;  there  was  a  crack,  at  one  corner 
of  the  alcove,  which  he  could  have  drawn  with  his  eyes  shut. 
Then,  when  he  was  made  comfortable  in  the  arm-chair,  came 
another  grievance.  Would  he  be  fixed  there  for  long,  just 
like  a  mummy  ?  The  street  was  not  so  amusing  ;  nobody 
ever  passed  there,  and  it  smelt  of  dirty  water  and  chemicals 
all  day  long.  No,  really,  he  was  growing  old  there ;  he 
would  have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  to  have  had  a  look  at 
the  fortifications.  And  he  constantly  reverted  to  violent 
accusations  against  fate.  It  wasn't  just  that  he  should  have 
had  such  an  accident ;  it  ought  never  to  have  happened  to 
him — a  good  workman,  who  was  neither  idle  nor  a  drunkard. 
Had  it  befallen  some  others  he  knew,  he  could  have  under- 
stood it. 

*  Papa  Coupeau,'  said  he,  *  broke  his  neck  one  day,  when 
he'd  been  drinking  heavily.  I  can't  say  that  it  was  deserved, 
but  anyhow  it  was  explainable.  But  I  had  tasted  nothing 
since  my  lunch,  was  perfectly  quiet,  without  a  drop  of  liquor 
in  my  body ;  and  yet  I  come  to  grief  just  because  I  v/ant  to 
turn  round  to  smile  at  Nana  I  Don't  you  think  that's  too 
bad  ?  If  there's  a  Providence,  it  certainly  arranges  things  in  a 
funny  manner.* 

And  afterwards,  when  he  was  at  last  able  to  use  his  legs, 
he  retained  a  secret  grudge  against  work.  To  spend  all  one's 
days  upon  house  roofs,  like  a  cat,  was  a  wretched  calling,  full 
of  misfortunes.  Ah  1  the  gentlefolks  were  no  fools  !  Far  too 
cowardly  themselves  to  venture  on  a  ladder,  they  sent  you  to 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  113 

your  death  while  they  stopped  at  home  in  safety  at  their  fire- 
sides, without  caring  a  hang  for  the  poorer  classes.  By 
degrees,  Coupeau  came  to  the  opinion  that  every  one  ought 
to  fix  the  zinc  on  his  own  house.  *  Well,  really  I '  said  he, 
'  in  the  name  of  justice  it  ought  to  be  so  ;  if  one  doesn't  want 
the  water  to  come  in,  one  should  cover  the  roof  oneself.' 
Then  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  learned  some  other  handi- 
craft, something  more  stylish  and  less  dangerous  ;  for  instance, 
that  of  a  cabinet-maker.  It  was  all  old  Coupeau's  fault ; 
fathers  always  had  that  stupid  habit  of  making  their  children 
follow  the  same  trade  as  themselves. 

For  another  two  months  Coupeau  walked  about  on  crutches. 
He  had  first  of  all  managed  to  get  as  far  as  the  street,  and 
smoke  his  pipe  in  front  of  the  door.  Then  he  had  succeeded 
in  reaching  the  outer  Boulevard,  dragging  himself  along  in 
the  sunshine,  and  remaining  for  hours  on  one  of  the  seats. 
Gaiety  now  returned  to  him ;  his  tongue  got  sharper  in  these 
long  hours  of  idleness.  And  with  the  pleasure  of  living  came 
delight  in  doing  nothing,  in  remaining  there  with  indolent 
limbs,  and  muscles  sinking  to  repose.  It  was  like  a  slow 
invasion  of  laziness,  which  took  advantage  of  his  conva- 
lescence to  permeate  and  unnerve  him  with  its  insidious 
charm.  He  was  regaining  his  health,  as  thorough  a  banterer 
as  before,  finding  life  very  pleasant,  and  unable  to  see  why  it 
should  not  last  like  this  for  ever.  When  he  was  able  to  lay 
aside  his  crutches,  he  took  longer  walks,  and  visited  the  work- 
shops to  see  his  comrades  again.  Chuckling  and  wagging 
his  head,  he  would  stand  with  folded  arms  in  front  of  houses 
that  were  being  built.  And  while  chaffing  the  workmen  who 
were  busying  about,  he  would  often  stretch  out  his  leg,  to  show 
them  the  result  of  exerting  oneself.  This  ridiculing  of  the  labour 
of  others  was  a  sort  of  satisfaction  to  his  grudge  against  work. 
No  doubt,  he  would  have  to  resume  work  again ;  he  would  be 
obliged  to ;  but  at  any  rate  he  would  put  off  doing  so  as  long 
as  possible.  Oh,  he  had  good  reason  for  not  being  enthusias- 
tic about  it.  And  then,  too,  it  seemed  so  pleasant  to  be  able 
to  do  nothing  for  a  while  1 

On  the  afternoons  when  Coupeau  felt  dull  he  would  call 
on  the  Lorilleux.  The  latter  pretended  to  pity  him  immensely, 
and  sought  to  attract  and  ensnare  him  by  all  sorts  of  amiable 
attentions.  During  the  first  years  following  his  marriage  he  had 
escaped  them,  thanks  to  Gervaise's  influence ;  but  now  they 
regained  sway  by  twitting  him  about  being  afraid  of  his  wife. 


114  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

He  was  no  man,  that  was  evident !  At  the  same  time  the 
Lorilleux  showed  great  discretion  in  their  language,  and  were 
loud  in  their  praise  of  the  laundress's  good  qualities.  Coupeau, 
without  as  yet  coming  to  wranghng,  swore  to  the  latter  that 
his  sister  was  extremely  fond  of  her,  and  requested  that 
she  would  behave  more  amiably  to  her.  ,The  first  quarrel 
between  the  couple  arose  on  account  of  Etienne.  It  hap- 
pened one  evening.  The  zinc-worker  had  passed  the  afternoon 
with  the  Lorilleux,  and  on  reaching  home,  as  the  dinner  was 
not  quite  ready,  and  the  children  were  whining  for  their  soup, 
he  suddenly  turned  upon  Etienne,  and  soundly  boxed  his 
ears.  Then  for  an  hour  he  did  not  cease  to  grumble  :  the  boy 
was  not  his ;  he  did  not  know  why  he  allowed  him  to  be  in 
the  place  ;  he  would  end  by  turning  him  out  into  the  street. 
Hitherto  he  had  tolerated  the  youngster  without  any  such 
fuss.  However,  on  the  morrow  he  talked  about  his  dignity, 
and  three  days  later  he  took  to  kicking  the  little  fellow  to  such 
a  point  that  the  latter,  whenever  he  heard  him  coming,  bolted 
into  the  Goujets,  where  the  old  lace-mender  kept  a  corner  of 
the  table  clear  for  him  to  prepare  his  lessons. 

Gervaise  had,  for  some  time  past,  returned  to  work.  She 
no  longer  had  the  trouble  of  constantly  removing  and  replac- 
ing the  glass  cover  of  the  clock ;  all  the  savings  were  gone  :  and 
she  had  to  work  hard,  work  for  four,  for  there  were  four  at 
table  now.  She  alone  maintained  them.  Whenever  she 
heard  people  pity  her,  she  at  once  found  excuses  for  Coupeau. 
They  ought  to  remember  he  had  suffered  so  much  that  it 
wasn't  surprising  if  his  disposition  had  soured  !  But  it  would 
pass  off  when  his  health  returned.  And  if  anyone  hinted  that 
Coupeau  seemed  all  right  again,  and  might  very  well  return  to 
work,  she  protested :  No,  no  !  not  yet !  She  did  not  want  to 
see  him  take  to  his  bed  again.  They  would  perhaps  allow 
her  to  know  best  what  the  doctor  had  said !  It  was  she  who 
prevented  him  from  returning  to  work,  telling  him  every 
morning  to  take  his  time  and  not  to  force  himself.  She  even 
shpped  twenty-sou  pieces  into  his  waistcoat  pocket.  And 
Coupeau  accepted  aU  this  as  something  perfectly  natural. 
He  complained,  too,  of  all  sorts  of  ailments,  in  order  to  be 
coddled  ;  at  the  end  of  six  months  his  convalescence  showed 
no  signs  of  ending.  And  now,  on  the  days  when  he  went  to 
look  at  others  working,  he  was  always  willing  to  go  and  drink 
a  glass  of  wine  with  his  pals.  Whatever  people  might  say,  a 
wine-shop  wasn't  such  an  uncomfortable  place ;  one  stayed 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  115 

there  Joking,  just  for  five  minutes,  and  surely  that  couldn't 
dishonour  anybody.  It  was  only  fools  who  remained  outside 
parched  with  thirst.  Those  who  had  been  wont  to  chaff  him 
had  been  quite  right,  for  a  glass  of  wine  had  never  yet  killed 
a  man.  However,  he  slapped  his  chest  as  he  boasted  that  he 
never  drank  anything  but  wine  ;  always  wine,  never  brandy  ; 
wine  prolonged  life,  made  nobody  ill,  and  nobody  drunk. 
Nevertheless,  on  several  occasions,  after  a  day  of  idleness 
spent  in  roaming  from  workshop  to  workshop,  and  from 
tavern  to  tavern,  he  had  come  home  considerably  elevated. 
On  those  days,  Gervaise  had  kept  her  door  shut,  pretending 
that  she  herself  had  a  bad  headache,  in  order  that  the 
Goujets  might  not  come  and  hear  all  the  nonsense  that 
Coupeau  was  talking. 

At  the  same  time,  the  young  woman  gradually  became 
sad.  Morning  and  evening  she  would  go  to  the  Kue  de  la 
Goutte-d'Or  to  look  at  the  coveted  shop,  which  was  still  to  let ; 
and  she  would  hide  herself  on  these  occasions,  as  though  she 
were  up  to  some  childish  prank  unworthy  of  a  grown-up 
person.  However,  this  shop  was  beginning  to  turn  her  brain. 
At  night-time,  when  the  hght  had  been  blown  out,  she  found 
the  charm  of  some  forbidden  pleasure  in  thinking  of  it.  She 
again  made  her  calculations :  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
would  be  needed  for  the  rent,  one  hundred  and  fifty  for  trade 
utensils  and  moving,  and  one  hundred  in  hand  to  keep  them 
going  for  a  fortnight — in  all,  five  hundred  francs  at  the  very 
lowest  figure.  If  she  did  not  continually  talk  of  it  aloud, 
it  was  from  fear  that  she  might  be  suspected  of  regretting 
the  savings  swallowed  up  by  Coupeau's  illness.  She  often 
became  quite  pale  at  having  almost  allowed  her  desire  to 
escape  her,  and  would  recall  her  words  with  as  much  confusion 
as  if  she  had  been  thinking  of  something  wicked.  They 
would  have  to  work  for  four  or  five  years  longer  before  they 
would  succeed  in  saving  such  a  sum,  and  what  she  chiefly 
regretted  was  her  inability  to  start  in  business  at  once ;  for 
she  would  then  have  earned  all  that  the  home  required, 
without  counting  on  Coupeau,  but  allowing  him  all  latitude 
to  get  into  the  way  of  work  again.  And  she  would  also  have 
felt  easy  in  mind,  certain  of  the  future,  free  of  the  secret 
fears  which  sometimes  came  upon  her  when  he  returned  home 
very  gay,  singing,  and  relating  some  jocular  story  about  that 
animal,  My-Boots,  whom  he  had  treated  to  a  drink. 

One  evening,  when  Gervase  was  at  home  alone,  Goujet 

i2 


ii6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

looked  in,  and  did  not  hurry  off  again  as  he  usually  did  under 
such  circumstances.  He  had  seated  himself,  and  smoked  as 
he  watched  her.  He  probably  had  something  serious  to  com- 
municate ;  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  it  over,  maturing  it  as  it 
were,  without  being  able  to  put  it  into  suitable  words.  At 
length,  after  a  long  silence,  he  appeared  to  make  up  his  mind, 
and  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  to  say  all  in  a  breath : 
*  Madame  Gervaise,  will  you  allow  me  to  lend  you  some 
money  ?  * 

She  was  just  then  leaning  over  an  open  drawer,  looking 
for  some  dishcloths.  But  she  at  once  rose  erect  with  her 
cheeks  flushing.  He  must  have  seen  her  then,  in  the  morn- 
ing, standing  in  ecstasy  before  the  shop  for  nearly  ten  minutes. 
He  was  smiling  in  an  embarrassed  way,  as  though  he  had 
made  some  offensive  proposal.  However  she  hastily  refused. 
Never  would  she  accept  money  from  anybody  without  know- 
ing when  she  would  be  able  to  return  it.  Besides,  it  was  a 
question  of  too  large  an  amount.  And  as  he  in  a  state  of  dis- 
may insisted,  she  ended  by  exclaiming :  *  But  your  marriage  ? 
I  certainly  can't  take  the  money  that  you've  been  saving  for 
your  marriage !  * 

'  Oh,  don't  let  that  bother  you,*  he  replied,  turning  red  in 
his  turn.  *  I'm  not  going  to  be  married  now.  It's  an  idea  of 
mine,  you  know — really,  I  would  much  sooner  lend  you  the 
money.' 

Then  they  both  held  down  their  heads.  There  was  some- 
thing very  pleasant  between  them  to  which  they  did  not  give 
expression.  And  Gervaise  accepted.  Goujet  had  told  his 
mother.  They  crossed  the  landing,  and  went  to  see  her  at 
once.  The  lace-mender  looked  very  grave  and  rather  sad  as 
Bhe  bent  her  face  over  her  tambour-frame.  She  would  not 
thwart  her  son,  but  she  no  longer  approved  of  Gervaise's  pro- 
ject ;  and  she  plainly  told  her  the  reason.  Coupeau  was  going 
to  the  bad  ;  Coupeau  would  devour  her  shop.  In  particular,  she 
could  not  forgive  the  zinc-worker  for  refusing  to  learn  to  read 
during  his  convalescence.  The  blacksmith  had  offered  to  teach 
him,  but  the  other  had  sent  him  to  the  right-about,  saying 
that  learning  made  people  lose  all  their  flesh.  This  had 
almost  caused  a  quarrel  between  the  two  workmen ;  each  went 
his  own  way  now.  However,  Madame  Goujet,  on  seeing  her 
big  boy's  beseeching  glances,  behaved  very  kindly  to  Gervaise. 
It  was  settled  that  the  Goujets  would  lend  their  neighbours 
five  hundred  francs ;  the  latter  were  to  repay  the  amount  by 


J 


SUNSHINE  AND   CLOUD  117 

instalments  of  twenty  francs  a  month :  things  would  go  on 
like  that  till  all  should  be  settled. 

*  Why,  I  say,  the  blacksmith's  sweet  on  you  ! '  exclaimed 
Coupeau,  laughing,  when  he  heard  of  what  had  taken  place. 
*  Oh,  I'm  quite  easy.  We'll  pay  him  back  his  money.  But 
really,  if  he  had  to  deal  with  dishonest  people,  he'd  find  him- 
self nicely  swindled.' 

On  the  morrow  the  Coupeaus  took  the  shop.  All  day  long, 
Gervaise  was  running  from  the  Rue  Neuve  to  the  Rue  de  la 
Goutte-d'Or.  Throughout  the  neighbourhood,  when  people 
saw  her  pass  in  this  wise,  so  nimble,  so  delighted  that  she  no 
longer  limped,  they  declared  that  she  must  have  undergone 
some  operation. 


V 

THE    LAUNDEY-SHOP 

It  so  happened  that  the  Boches  had  left  the  Rue  des  Poisson- 
niers  at  the  April  quarter,  and  were  now  taking  charge  of  the 
great  house  in  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  It  was  a  curious 
and  lucky  coincidence,  all  the  same !  One  thing  that  had 
worried  Gervaise,  who  had  lived  so  quietly  in  her  lodgings  in 
the  Rue  Neuve  where  the  house  had  no  doorkeeper,  had  been 
the  thought  of  finding  herself  under  the  subjection  of  some 
unpleasant  person,  with  whom  she  would  be  continually  quar- 
relling, either  on  account  of  a  little  water  spilt  in  the  passage 
or  of  a  door  shut  too  noisily  at  night-time.  Doorkeepers  are 
such  a  disagreeable  class !  But  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  be 
with  the  Boches.  They  knew  one  another,  and  would  always 
get  on  well  together.     Briefly,  they  would  be  en  famille. 

On  the  day  when  the  Coupeaus  went  to  sign  the  lease, 
Gervaise  felt  her  heart  beat  as  she  passed  through  the  high 
doorway.  So  she  was  at  last  going  to  hve  in  that  house 
which  was  as  extensive  as  a  little  town,  with  its  interminable 
stretches  of  staircases,  and  its  network  of  passages.  The  grey 
faQades,  with  rags  hanging  from  the  windows  to  dry  in  the 
sunshine  ;  the  pale,  wan-looking  courtyard  with  its  rugged 
pavement  like  that  of  some  neglected  public  square  ;  the  hum 
of  work  which  issued  from  the  walls — all  caused  quite  a  com- 
motion within  her,  a  joy  at  finding  herself  at  last  so  near  the 


ii8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

contentment  of  her  ambition,  and  a  fear  that  she  might  not 
succeed  but  be  crushed  in  that  great  struggle  against  hunger, 
whose  near  presence  she  could  feel.  As  she  listened  to  the 
blacksmith's  hammers  and  the  cabinet-maker's  planes,  ham- 
mering and  hissing  in  the  depths  of  the  workshops  on  the 
ground  floor,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  doing  something 
very  bold,  throwing  herself  as  it  were  into  the  midst  of  some 
machinery  in  motion.  That  day  the  water  flowing  from  the 
dyer's  under  the  entrance  porch  was  a  very  pale  apple-green, 
and  as  she  stepped  over  it  she  smiled,  for  the  colour  seemed 
to  her  a  pleasant  omen. 

The  meeting  with  the  landlord  was  to  take  place  in  the 
Boches'  room,  M.  Marescot,  a  wealthy  cutler  of  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix,  had  at  one  time  turned  a  grindstone  through  the  streets. 
He  was  now  stated  to  be  worth  several  millions.  He  was  a  man 
of  fifty-five,  strong,  bony,  and  decorated,  with  a  partiality  for 
exhibiting  the  huge  hands  with  which  he  had  once  toiled.  One 
of  his  delights  was  to  get  hold  of  his  tenants'  knives  and  scis- 
sors, which  he  would  sharpen  himself  just  for  pleasure's  sake. 
He  had  the  reputation  of  being  in  no  wise  proud,  simply  be- 
cause he  remained  for  hours  in  a  secluded  corner  of  his  door- 
keepers' room,  overhauling  their  accounts.  It  was  there  that 
he  transacted  all  the  business  connected  with  the  house.  The 
Coupeaus  found  him  seated  at  Madame  Boche's  greasy  table, 
listening  to  how  the  dressmaker  on  the  second  floor,  staircase 
A,  had  in  disgusting  terms  refused  to  pay  her  rent.  Then, 
when  the  lease  was  signed,  he  shook  hands  with  the  zinc- 
worker.  He  liked  workmen.  He  himself  had  once  been 
obliged  to  work  very  hard.  But  then  work  was  the  high  road 
to  everything.  And  after  counting  the  two  hundred  and  fifty 
francs  paid  him  for  the  first  two  quarters'  rent  in  advance,  and 
dropping  them  into  his  capacious  pocket,  he  related  the  story  of 
his  life,  and  showed  his  decoration. 

Gervaise,  however,  remained  somewhat  ill  at  ease  on 
account  of  the  Boches'  demeanour.  They  pretended  not  to 
know  her,  but  were  most  assiduous  in  their  attentions  to  the 
landlord,  bowing  down  before  him,  watching  for  his  least 
words,  and  nodding  approval  of  them.  Madame  Boche 
suddenly  ran  out  to  disperse  a  number  of  children  who  were 
paddling  about  in  front  of  the  water-tap,  which  they  had 
turned  on,  so  as  to  inundate  the  pavement ;  and  as  she  came 
back,  upright  and  severe  of  aspect  while  crossing  the  court- 
yard and  slowly  glancing  at  the  windows  of  the  house  as 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  119 

though  to  assure  herself  that  all  was  in  good  order  there, 
she  pursed  her  lips  like  one  conscious  of  the  authority  she 
wielded,  now  that  she  reigned  over  three  hundred  tenants. 
Then  Boche  again  spoke  of  the  dressmaker  on  the  second 
floor,  suggesting  that  she  should  be  turned  out,  and  reckon- 
ing the  number  of  quarters  that  she  already  owed  with  the 
importance  of  a  steward  whose  management  might  suffer 
thereby.  M.  Marescot  approved  of  the  idea,  but  preferred  to 
wait  till  the  half-quarter.  It  was  hard  to  have  to  turn  people 
into  the  streets,  especially  as  no  money  was  thereby  put  into 
the  landlord's  pockets.  But  Gervaise  asked  herself  with  a 
shudder  if  she  also  would  be  turned  adrift  on  the  day  when 
some  misfortune  might  prevent  her  from  paying  her  rent. 
Thus  they  lingered  there,  in  that  smoky  doorkeeper's  room, 
full  of  black  furniture,  and  as  dark  and  damp  as  a  cellar. 
Such  Httle  light  as  there  was  fell  upon  the  tailor's  board  in 
front  of  the  window,  where  lay  an  old  frock  coat  sent  to  be 
turned  ;  while  Pauline,  the  Boches'  only  child,  a  red-haired 
chit  some  four  years  old,  sat  upon  the  floor  basking  in 
the  strong  odour  that  arose  from  a  stew-pan  in  which  some 
veal  was  cooking. 

M.  Marescot  was  again  offering  his  hand  to  the  zinc- 
worker,  when  the  latter  spoke  of  repairing  the  shop,  remind- 
ing the  landlord  of  a  promise  he  had  made  to  talk  this 
matter  over  later  on.  But  at  this  M.  Marescot  became  surly  : 
he  had  promised  nothing,  said  he ;  and  besides,  it  was  not 
usual  to  repair  a  shop.  Hewever,  he  consented  to  go  over 
the  place,  followed  by  the  Coupeaus  and  Boche.  The  little 
linendraper  had  carried  off  his  shelves  and  counters,  and  the 
empty  shop  displayed  a  blackened  ceiling  and  cracked  walls, 
from  which  hung  strips  of  old  yellow  paper.  And  in  the 
sonorous  void  a  heated  discussion  ensued.  M.  Marescot 
declared  that  it  was  the  business  of  shopkeepers  to  embellish 
their  shops,  for  a  shopkeeper  might  wish  to  have  gold  put 
about  everywhere,  and  he,  the  landlord,  could  not  possibly 
put  any  gold.  Then  he  related  that  he  had  spent  more  than 
twenty  thousand  francs  in  fitting  up  his  own  premises  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix.  Gervaise,  however,  with  her  feminine 
obstinacy,  kept  on  repeating  an  argument  which  she 
considered  unanswerable.  He  would  repaper  a  lodging, 
would  he  not  ?  Then  why  not  treat  the  shop  the  same  as  a 
lodging  ?  She  did  not  ask  him  for  anything  beyond  white- 
washing the  ceiling,  and  putting  some  fresh  paper  on  the  walls. 


120  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Boche,  meanwhile,  remained  dignified  and  impenetrable ; 
he  turned  about  and  looked  up  in  the  air,  without  expressing 
an  opinion.  In  vain  did  Coupeau  wink  at  him ;  it  seemed  as 
if  he  wished  to  avoid  any  undue  exercise  of  his  great  in- 
fluence over  the  landlord.  However,  he  ended  by  indulging 
in  a  slight  grimace — a  faint  smile,  accompanied  by  a  nod  of 
the  head.  And  as  it  happened  M.  Marescot,  exasperated  and 
apparently  very  unhappy,  his  hands  distended  claw-like,  as  if 
he  were  a  miser  being  despoiled  of  his  gold,  was  just  then 
giving  way  to  Gervaise,  promising  to  do  the  ceiling  and 
repaper  the  shop,  on  condition  that  she  paid  for  half  the 
paper.  And  thereupon  he  hurried  away,  decHning  to  discuss 
anything  further. 

When  Boche  was  alone  with  the  Coupeaus  he  slapped 
them  on  the  shoulders,  and  became  very  jolly  and  friendly. 
Well,  the  point  was  carried!  Without  him  they  would 
never  have  had  the  ceiling  whitewashed  or  the  walls  re- 
papered.  Had  they  noticed  how  the  landlord  had  consulted 
him  with  a  glance,  and  had  suddenly  come  to  a  decision  on 
seeing  him  smile  ?  Then,  he  owned,  in  confidence,  that  he 
was  the  real  master  of  the  house ;  he  decided  when  a  notice 
to  quit  should  be  given,  let  the  rooms  when  the  people  suited 
him,  and  received  the  rents,  which  he  kept  for  fortnights 
together  stowed  away  in  his  drawers.  That  evening,  the 
Coupeaus,  by  way  of  thanking  the  Boches,  thought  it  only 
polite  to  send  them  two  quarts  of  wine.  What  the  door- 
keepers had  done  was  well  worth  a  present. 

Already  on  the  following  Monday,  the  workmen  started 
upon  the  shop.  The  purchasing  of  the  paper  turned  out  a  big 
affair.  Gervaise  wanted  some  grey  paper  with  blue  flowers, 
so  as  to  enliven  and  brighten  the  walls,  and  Boche  offered  to 
take  her  to  the  dealers,  so  that  she  might  make  her  own 
selection.  But  the  landlord  had  given  him  express  instruc- 
tions not  to  go  beyond  the  price  of  fifteen  sous  per  piece. 
They  spent  an  hour  at  the  dealers'.  The  laundress  kept 
looking  in  despair  at  a  pretty  chintz -like  pattern  costing 
eighteen  sous  the  piece,  and  thought  all  the  other  papers 
hideous.  At  length  the  doorkeeper  gave  in ;  he  would 
arrange  the  matter,  and,  if  necessary,  assert  that  a  piece  more 
had  been  used  than  was  really  the  case.  So,  on  her  way 
home,  Gervaise  purchased  some  fcarts  for  Pauline.  She  did 
not  like  being  behind-hand,  one  always  gained  by  behaving 
nicely  with  her. 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  I2i 

It  had  been  promised  that  the  shop  should  be  ready  in 
four  days  ;  but  the  workmen  were  there  three  weeks.  At 
first  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  merely  wash  the  paint. 
But  this  paint,  originally  the  colour  of  wine  lees,  w^as  so  dirty 
and  gloomy,  that  Gervaise  let  herself  be  tempted  into  having 
the  whole  frontage  painted  a  light  blue  with  yellow  mould- 
ings. Then  it  seemed  as  though  the  repairs  would  last  for 
ever.  Coupeau,  who  had  not  yet  returned  to  work,  would 
arrive  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  to  see  if  things  were 
going  on  properly.  Boche,  leaving  the  coat  or  trousers,  the 
button-holes  of  which  he  was  mending,  would  come  and  give 
an  eye  to  the  men.  And  both  he  and  Coupeau,  standing  in 
front  of  the  painters,  smoking  and  expectorating,  with  their 
hands  behind  their  backs,  would  pass  the  day  in  judging  each 
dab  of  the  paint  brush.  There  were  interminable  reflections, 
profound  reveries,  anent  the  merest  nail  that  had  to  be  pulled 
out.  The  painters,  two  tall  jolly  fellows,  would,  on  their  side, 
leave  their  ladders,  and  likewise  plant  themselves  in  the  middle 
of  the  shop,  joining  in  the  discussion,  and  wagging  their  heads 
for  hours  as  they  looked  at  such  work  as  they  had  done.  The 
ceihng  was  whitewashed  pretty  rapidly,  but  there  seemed  to 
be  no  end  to  the  painting.  It  would  not  dry.  Towards 
nine  o'clock  the  painters  would  put  in  an  appearance  with 
their  colour  pots,  and  after  depositing  them  in  a  corner  and 
giving  a  look  round,  they  would  disappear.  And  after  that 
they  were  not  seen  again.  They  had  either  gone  off  to  lunch 
or  had  been  obliged  to  go  and  finish  some  littl©  job  in  the 
Rue  Myrrha  close  by.  On  other  occasions,  Coupeau  took  the 
whole  gang — Boche,  the  painters,  and  any  comrades  who 
happened  to  be  passing,  to  have  a  glass  of  wine — and  that 
meant  another  afternoon  wasted.  Gervaise's  patience  was 
almost  worn  out,  when,  suddenly,  everything  was  finished  in 
two  days,  the  paint  varnished,  the  paper  hung,  and  the  dirt 
all  cleared  away.  The  workmen  had  finished  everything  off 
as  though  they  were  playing,  whistling  the  while  on  their 
ladders,  and  singing  loudly  enough  to  deafen  the  whole 
neighbourhood. 

The  moving  in  took  place  at  once.  During  the  first  few 
days,  Gervaise  felt  as  delighted  as  a  child  whenever  she 
crossed  the  road  on  returning  from  some  errand.  She  lingered 
to  smile  at  her  new  home.  From  a  distance,  amidst  the  dark 
row  of  the  other  frontages,  her  shop  appeared  quite  light  and 
gay,  with  its  pale  blue    sign-board,   on    which    the  word 


122  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

'Laundress*  was  painted  in  big  yellow  letters.  In  the 
window,  closed  in  behind  by  little  muslin  curtains,  and  hung 
on  either  side  with  blue  paper  to  show  off  the  whiteness  of 
the  hnen,  some  shirts  remained  displayed,  with  women's 
caps  hanging  from  wires  above  them.  And  Gervaise  thought 
her  shop  looked  very  pretty,  of  the  same  tint  as  the  heavens. 
Inside,  there  was  more  azure ;  the  paper,  in  imitation  of 
a  Pompadour  chintz,  represented  a  trellis  overgrown  with 
blue  convolvuli ;  and  the  large  work-table  filling  two  thirds 
of  the  place,  and  covered  with  a  thick  cloth,  was  draped  round 
with  a  piece  of  cretonne  of  a  bluish  flowery  pattern,  so  as  to 
hide  the  trestles  on  which  it  stood.  Gervaise  would  seat 
herself  on  a  stool  delighted  with  the  beautiful  cleanliness,  and 
devouring  all  the  new  utensils  with  her  eyes.  However,  her 
first  glance  was  always  for  her  cast-iron  stove,  where  ten  irons, 
ranged  round  the  fire  on  slanting  plates,  could  be  heated  at 
the  same  time.  And  she  would  go  down  on  her  knees  and 
look  underneath,  with  a  constant  dread  lest  her  little  fool  of 
an  apprentice  might  make  the  cast  iron  crack  by  stuffing  in 
too  much  coke. 

The  lodging  at  the  back  of  the  shop  was  a  very  fair  one. 
The  Coupeaus  slept  in  the  first  room,  where  they  also  cooked 
their  food  and  took  their  meals ;  a  door  at  the  far  end  opened 
on  to  the  courtyard  of  the  house.  Then  Nana's  bed  was  in 
the  right-hand  room,  a  kind  of  large  closet,  which  was  lighted 
by  a  little  round  window  near  the  ceiling.  As  for  Etienne, 
he  shared  the  left-hand  room  with  the  dirty  clothes,  huge 
bundles  of  which  lay  about  the  floor.  However,  there  was 
one  disadvantage — though  the  Coupeaus  would  not  at  first 
admit  it — the  damp  ran  down  the  walls,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  see  clearly  in  the  place  after  three  o*clock  in  the  after- 
noon. 

In  the  neighbourhood  the  new  shop  produced  a  great  sen- 
sation. The  Coupeaus  were  accused  of  going  too  fast,  and 
making  a  fuss.  They  had,  in  fact,  spent  the  five  hundred 
francs  lent  them  by  the  Goujets  in  fitting  up  the  shop  and 
moving  into  it  without  keeping  sufficient  to  live  upon  for  a 
fortnight,  as  they  had  intended  doing.  On  the  morning  when 
Gervaise  took  down  her  shutters  for  the  first  time,  she  had 
just  six  francs  in  her  purse.  But  this  did  not  worry  her,  for 
customers  began  to  arrive,  and  things  seemed  promising.  A 
week  later,  on  the  Saturday,  before  going  to  bed,  she  remained 
for  two  hours  making  calculations  on  a  strip  of  paper,  and 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  123 

then  awoke  Coupeau  to  tell  him  with  a  bright  look  on  her 
face,  that  there  were  hundreds  and  thousands  of  francs  to  be 
made  in  the  business  if  they  were  only  careful. 

*  Ah,  well  I  '  declared  Madame  Lorilleux  all  over  the  Rue 
de  la  Goutte-d'  Or,  *  my  fool  of  a  brother  is  seeing  some  funny 
things !  All  that  was  wanting  was  that  the  Hobbler  should 
misbehave  herself.     It  becomes  her  well,  doesn't  it  ?  * 

The  Lorilleux  had  declared  war  to  the  knife  against  Ger- 
vaise.  To  begin  with,  they  had  almost  died  of  rage  while  the 
repairs  were  going  on  at  the  shop.  On  merely  catching  sight 
of  the  painters  from  a  distance  they  would  cross  to  the  other 
side  of  the  way,  and  go  up  to  their  rooms  grinding  their  teeth, 
A  blue  shop  for  that  '  nobody,'  indeed  1  "Wasn't  it  enough  to 
discourage  all  honest,  hard-working  people  ?  So  on  the  second 
day,  as  the  apprentice  happened  to  be  emptying  a  basin  of 
starch  water  in  the  street  just  as  Madame  Lorilleux  was  going 
out,  the  latter  drew  a  crowd  together  by  accusing  her  sister-in- 
law  of  inciting  her  work-girls  to  insult  her.  And  then  all  inter- 
course was  broken  off ;  whenever  they  met,  they  only  exchanged 
the  most  terrible  looks. 

*  Yes,  she  leads  a  pretty  life  !  *  Madame  Lorilleux  constantly 
repeated.  *  We  all  know  where  she  got  the  money  for  her 
wretched  shop  !  It  was  given  her  by  the  blacksmith  ;  and  he 
springs  from  a  nice  family  too  !  Didn't  the  father  cut  his  own 
throat  to  save  the  guillotine  the  trouble  of  doing  so  ?  Anyhow 
there  was  something  disreputable  of  that  sort  I  * 

She  coupled  Gervaise's  name  with  that  of  the  blacksmith 
in  the  plainest  manner.  She  even  lied,  pretending  that  she 
had  come  upon  them  one  evening  while  they  were  keeping  an 
appointment  on  the  outer  Boulevards.  And  plain  woman  that 
she  was,  whom  nobody  had  ever  admired,  one  cry  was  ever 
rising  from  her  heart  to  her  lips  :  *  But  why  is  it  that  people 
fall  in  love  with  that  wretched  cripple  ?  Nobody  ever  falls  in 
love  with  me  !  ' 

Then  there  were  endless  cacklings  with  the  neighbours. 
She  told  the  whole  story.  Ah  1  she  had  led  them  a  fine 
dance  on  the  wedding-day  !  Oh  !  she  was  not  blind,  she  had 
even  then  seen  how  it  would  all  turn  out.  Only  the  Hobbler 
had  afterwards  made  herself  so  pleasant  and  played  the 
hypocrite  so  well,  that  she,  Madame  Lorilleux,  and  her  husband 
had,  for  Coupeau's  sake,  consented  to  be  Nana's  godfather  and 
godmother.  And  a  christening  like  that  had  cost  something 
and  no  mistake  !     But  now,  you  know,  the  Hobbler  might  be 


124  THE  DRAMSHOP 

at  death's  door,  and  in  sore  need  of  a  glass  of  water,  yet  she, 
Madame  Lorilleux,  would  certainly  not  give  it  to  her.  She 
had  no  liking  for  persons  who  were  insolent,  dishonest,  or  de- 
praved. Nana,  of  course,  would  always  be  welcome  should 
she  come  to  see  her  godfather  or  godmother ;  the  little  one 
could  not  be  held  guilty  for  her  mother's  crimes.  As  for 
Coupeau,  he  was  in  no  need  of  advice  ;  any  other  man  in  his 
place  would  have  boxed  his  wife's  ears  and  given  her  a  duck- 
ing. However,  it  was  his  own  business  ;  all  that  they  asked 
of  him  was  that  he  should  require  proper  respect  to  be  paid  to 
bis  family.  And  yet,  good  heavens  1  if  she,  Madame  Lorilleux, 
had  carried  on  as  the  other  did,  her  husband  would  have 
stabbed  her  with  his  shears. 

In  spite  of  all  this,  the  Boches,  who  sternly  judged  the 
quarrels  of  the  house,  declared  that  the  Lorilleux  were  in  the 
wrong.  They  were  no  doubt  respectable  persons,  who  made 
no  noise,  worked  hard  and  paid  their  rent  regularly.  But, 
really,  jealousy  drove  them  mad.  Besides,  they  were 
regular  misers.  There  was  no  other  name  for  them ;  they 
hid  their  wine  away  whenever  anybody  called  on  them,  so  that 
they  might  not  have  to  offer  a  glass  of  it.  In  short,  they  were 
not  at  all  a  pleasant  couple.  One  day  Gervaise  had  just 
treated  the  Boches  to  some  black-currant  syrup  and  seltzer 
water,  and  they  were  all  drinking  it  in  the  doorkeepers'  room 
when  Madame  Lorilleux  passed  by  very  stiffly,  actually  spitting 
j  ust  outside  the  door  as  she  did  so ;  and  by  way  of  revenge 
every  Saturday  after  that  occasion,  Madame  Boche  when 
sweeping  the  stairs  and  passages,  would  leave  a  collection  of 
dust  in  front  of  the  chain-maker's  door. 

*  It  isn't  to  be  wondered  at  I  '  Madame  Lorilleux  would 
exclaim,  *  the  Hobbler's  for  ever  stuffing  them,  the  gluttons  I 
Ah  !  they're  all  alike  ;  but  they  had  better  not  annoy  me  !  For 
I'll  complain  to  the  landlord.  Only  yesterday  I  saw  that  sly 
old  beast  Boche  making  eyes  at  Madame  Gaudron.  Just 
fancy  1  a  woman  of  that  age,  and  with  half  a  dozen  children 
too  ;  it's  disgraceful.  So  if  I  have  any  more  nonsense  I'll 
tell  Madame  Boche,  and  she'll  give  her  old  man  a  hiding.  It'll 
be  something  to  laugh  at !  ' 

Meantime  Mother  Coupeau  continued  to  visit  both  homes,  say- 
ing j  ust  what  the  others  said,  and  even  contriving  to  get  kept  to 
dinner  more  frequently  by  complaisantly  listening  one  evening  to 
her  daughter  and  the  next  evening  to  her  daughter-in-law.  For 
the  time  being,  Madame  Lerat  had  ceased  calling  on  the  Oou- 


THE  LAUNDRY^SHOP  125 

peaus,  because  she  had  quarrelled  with  the  Hobbler  respectmg 
a  zouave  who  had  lately  cut  off  his  mistress's  nose  with  a 
razor. ^  She  took  the  zouave's  part,  thinking  the  use  of  a 
razor  a  great  sign  of  love,  though  she  did  not  give  her  reasons ; 
and  she  fanned  her  sister's  resentment  by  assuring  her  that 
the  Hobbler,  in  the  course  of  conversation  before  fifteen  or 
twenty  persons,  had  repeatedly  referred  to  her  by  that  most 
objectionable  nickname  of  Cow's  Tail.  Yes,  indeed  that  was 
how  she  was  now  called  by  the  Boches  and  the  neighbours 
generally. 

Amidst  all  this  tittle-tattle,  Gervaise,  quietly  smiling  on 
her  door-step,  would  greet  her  friends  with  an  affectionate  nod 
of  the  head.  She  delighted  to  come  there  for  a  moment 
during  her  ironing  to  beam  upon  the  street,  with  the  pride  of 
a  shopkeeper  who  has  a  bit  of  pavement  belonging  to  her. 
The  Kue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  the  adjacent  streets,  indeed  the 
whole  neighbourhood  seemed  to  be  hers.  As  she  stood  on 
her  threshold,  in  her  loose  white  jacket  with  bare  arms,  and 
fair,  wavy,  straying  hair  loosened  by  her  work,  she  would 
glance  first  to  the  left  and  then  to  the  right,  as  far  as  she 
could  see,  so  as  to  take  in  the  passers-by,  the  houses,  the  pave- 
ment, and  the  sky.  On  the  left,  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or 
stretched  away  quiet  and  deserted  till  it  became  like  some 
corner  of  a  country  town,  where  women  conversed  in  low 
voices  at  their  doors.  On  the  right,  a  few  paces  away,  opened 
the  Rue  des  Poissonniers,  re-echoing  with  the  clatter  of  pass- 
ing vehicles,  a  crowd's  continual  tramping  and  eddying,  which 
turned  that  part  of  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  into  a  cross- 
way  thronged  with  people.  Gervaise  loved  the  street,  the 
bumping  of  the  heavy  carts  over  the  rough  pavement,  the 
jostling  of  the  wayfarers  following  the  narrow  side-walks, 
which  every  now  and  then  gave  place  to  a  steep  pebbly  descent. 
The  few  yards  of  gutter  in  front  of  her  shop  assumed  vast 
importance  in  her  eyes,  became  a  broad  river  which  she  liked 
to  see  perfectly  clean — a  strange  and  living  river,  whose 
waters  were  softly  and  capriciously  tinted,  amidst  all  the  sur- 
rounding black  mud,  by  the  flow  from  the  dyer's  establishment. 
She  was  also  interested  in  some  of  the  shops  :  a  large  grocery 
with  its  display  of  dried  fruits  protected  by  fine  netting,  and  a 
workman's  outfitting  establishment,  in  front  of  which  overalls 

'  This  was  one  of  the  causes  cddbres  of  the  time,  and  M.  Claude,  the 
famous  chief  of  the  French  detective  police,  has  left  a  circumstantial 
account  of  it. 


126  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

and  blue  blouses,  hanging  with  outstretched  legs  and  arms, 
waved  at  the  slightest  breeze.  Then,  too,  at  the  greengrocer's 
and  the  tripe-seller's,  she  could  espy  glimpses  of  counters  on 
which  superb  cats  sat  quietly  purring.  Her  nods  were  politely 
returned  by  her  neighbour,  Madame  Vigouroux,  the  charcoal- 
dealer,  a  short  plump  woman  with  bright  eyes  and  a  black 
face,  who  idled  her  time  away  laughing  with  men  or  leaning 
against  her  shop  front,  to  which  numerous  logs  of  wood 
painted  on  a  claret-coloured  background  lent  the  aspect  of  a 
rustic  chalet.  However,  Mesdames  Cudorge,  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, Gervaise's  neighbours  on  the  other  hand,  never  stirred  from 
their  umbrella  shop.  Their  window  always  had  a  gloomy  look, 
and  their  door,  ornamented  with  two  little  zinc  parasols 
thickly  coated  with  bright  vermilion,  invariably  remained 
closed. 

Before  going  back  into  her  shop  again  Gervaise  always 
glanced  over  the  road  at  a  huge  windowless  white  wall,  in  the 
middle  of  which  was  a  large  gateway,  allowing  one  to  see  the 
flare  of  a  forge  in  a  courtyard  full  of  carts  and  vans,  whose 
shafts  were  raised  in  the  air.  On  the  wall,  the  word '  Farriery ' 
was  painted  in  tall  letters,  surrounded  by  a  framework  of 
horse-shoes.  All  day  long  hammers  resounded  on  the  anvil, 
and  fiery  clouds  of  sparks  lighted  up  the  pale  shade  of  the 
yard.  And  at  the  end  of  the  boundary  wall,  in  a  hole  about 
the  size  of  a  cupboard,  between  a  dealer  in  old  iron  and  a  fried 
potato  stall,  was  a  clockmaker,  a  frock-coated  clean  looking 
gentleman,  who  was  for  ever  probing  watches  with  very  tiny 
tools,  at  a  work-table  on  which  various  fragile  things  reposed 
under  glasses ;  whilst  behind  him  the  pendulums  of  two  or 
three  dozen  little  cuckoo  clocks  ticked  all  together,  amidst  the 
gloomy  wretchedness  of  the  street  and  the  rhythmical  hubbub 
of  the  farriery. 

The  neighbourhood  in  general  thought  Gervaise  very 
pretty.  True  there  was  a  good  deal  of  scandal  related  about 
her  ;  but  every  one  admitted  that  she  had  large  eyes,  a  small 
mouth,  and  beautiful  white  teeth.  In  short,  she  was  a  pretty 
blonde,  and  but  for  her  unfortunate  leg  she  might  have  ranked 
with  the  comehest.  She  was  now  in  her  twenty-eighth  year, 
and  had  become  plumper.  Her  fine  features  were  even  getting 
somewhat  puffy,  and  her  gestures  were  instinct  with  a  pleasant 
indolence.  At  times,  whilst  waiting  for  her  iron  to  heat,  she 
forgot  herself  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  smiling  vaguely,  with  an 
expression  of  greedy  joy  upon  her  face.     She  was  becoming 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  127 

fond  of  good  living,  everybody  said  so  ;  but  that  was  not  a  re- 
prehensible failing,  rather  the  contrary.  When  one  earns 
sufficient  to  treat  oneself  to  titbits,  it  would  be  fooUsh  to  eat 
potato  parings.  And  besides,  she  continued  working  very 
hard,  slaving  away  to  please  her  customers,  and  even  sitting 
up  late  at  nights,  after  the  place  was  closed,  whenever  there 
was  anything  pressing. 

She  was  very  lucky  in  business,  as  all  her  neighbours  often 
Baid  ;  everything  prospered  with  her.  She  washed  for  nearly 
the  whole  house  :  for  M.  Madinier,  Mademoiselle  Remanjou,  the 
Boches,  and  so  forth.  She  even  secured  some  of  the  customers 
of  her  old  employer,  Madame  Fauconnier, — some  Parisian 
ladies  living  in  the  Rue  du  Faubourg-Poissonniere.  And  as 
early  as  the  third  week  she  was  obliged  to  engage  two  work- 
women, Madame  Putois  and  tall  Clemence,  who  had  formerly 
lived  on  the  sixth  floor  of  the  house,  Counting  her  apprentice, 
little  squint-eyed  Augustine,  she  thus  had  three  persons  in  her 
employ.  Others  would  certainly  have  lost  their  heads  at  such  a 
piece  of  good  fortune.  So  it  was  quite  excusable  for  her  to 
feast  a  little  on  Mondays  after  drudging  all  through  the  week. 
Besides,  it  was  necessary  to  her.  She  would  have  had  no 
courage  left  her,  and  would  have  expected  to  see  the  shirts 
iron  themselves,  if  she  had  not  now  and  then  been  able  to  line 
her  stomach  with  something  nice  that  happened  to  tickle  her 
appetite. 

Never  before,  too,  had  Gervaise  shown  so  much  com- 
plaisance. She  was  as  meek  as  a  lamb,  as  good  as  bread. 
Excepting  Madame  Lorilleux,  whom  she  called  by  that  horrid 
nickname  out  of  revenge,  she  detested  nobody,  but  found  ex- 
cuses for  all.  Amidst  the  slight  languor  born  of  her  greedy 
fits,  when  she  had  lunched  well  and  drunk  her  coffee,  she 
would  yield  to  a  desire  for  general  indulgence.  Her  favourite 
saying  was  :  *  We  must  forgive  one  another,  if  we  don't  want 
to  live  like  savages.'  When  people  talked  of  her  kindness,  she 
laughed.  Why  in  truth's  name  should  she  have  been  cruel ! 
She  protested  that  she  showed  no  merit  in  being  kind.  Had 
not  all  her  dreams  been  realised  ?  Had  she  anything  else  to 
wish  for  in  life  ?  She  recalled  her  ideal  of  bygone  days, 
when  she  had  found  herself  penniless — to  work,  have  bread  to 
eat,  a  home  to  live  in,  to  be  able  to  bring  up  her  children,  to 
live  without  being  beaten,  and  to  die  in  her  bed.  And  now 
her  dream  was  more  than  fulfilled  ;  she  had  all,  and  far  better 
than  she  had  desired.    As  for  dying  in  her  bed,  she  added 


128  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

jokingly,  that  she  counted  upon  doing  so,  but  of  course  at  as 
distant  a  date  as  might  be  possible. 

It  was  to  Coupeau  especially  that  Gervaise  behaved  with 
all  kindness.  Never  an  angry  word  came  from  her,  never  a 
complaint  behind  her  husband's  back.  He  had  at  length  re- 
sumed work  ;  and  as  the  job  he  was  then  engaged  upon  was 
at  the  other  side  of  Paris,  she  gave  him  every  morning  forty 
sous  for  his  luncheon,  his  drink  and  his  tobacco.  However, 
two  days  out  of  every  six,  Coupeau  would  stop  on  the  way, 
spend  the  forty  sous  in  drink  with  a  friend,  and  return  home 
to  lunch,  with  some  cock-and-bull  story  or  other.  Once  even 
he  did  not  trouble  to  go  far,  but  with  My-Boots,  and  three 
others,  treated  himself  to  a  regular  feast — snails,  roast  meat, 
and  sealed  bottles  of  wine — at  the  '  Capuchin,*  near  the  Bar- 
riere  de  la  Chapelle.  Then,  as  his  forty  sous  were  not  suffi- 
cient, he  had  sent  the  waiter  to  his  wife  with  the  bill  and  the 
information  that  he  was  in  pawn.  She  laughed  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders.  Where  was  the  harm  if  her  husband  amused 
himself  a  bit  ?  Men  must  be  given  a  little  rein  if  one  wanted 
to  live  peaceably  at  home.  From  one  word  to  another,  folks 
soon  came  to  blows.  Besides,  it  was  easy  to  understand : 
Coupeau  still  suffered  from  his  leg  ;  and  then,  he  was  led  astray. 
He  was  obliged  to  do  as  the  others  did,  or  else  he  would  have 
been  thought  a  muff.  And  really  it  was  a  matter  of  no  con- 
sequence. If  he  came  home  a  httle  bit  elevated,  he  went  to 
bed,  and  two  hours  afterwards  he  was  all  right  again. 

However,  the  warm  season  of  the  year  at  last  set  in.  One 
June  afternoon,  a  Saturday  when  there  was  urgent  work  to  do, 
Gervaise  herself  had  piled  the  coke  into  the  stove,  around 
which  ten  irons  were  heating,  whilst  the  chimney  fairly  roared. 
The  sun  was  shining  full  on  the  shop-front,  and  from  the  pave- 
ment came  an  ardent  reverberation  which  sent  broad  ripples 
of  light  dancing  over  the  ceiling  of  the  shop.  The  blaze, 
though  it  assumed  a  bluish  tinge  from  the  colour  of  the  paper 
on  the  shelves  and  against  the  window,  was  of  almost  blinding 
intensity  above  the  ironing-table,  a  very  nucleus  of  solar  dust 
sifted  through  fine  linen.  The  atmosphere  too  was  stifling. 
Though  the  shop  door  had  been  thrown  wide  open,  not  a 
breath  of  air  came  in  ;  the  clothes,  hung  upon  wires  to  dry, 
steamed,  and  became  as  stiff  as  shavings  in  less  than  three 
quarters  of  an  hour.  For  some  little  while,  in  that  oppressive 
furnace-like  heat,  there  had  reigned  deep  silence  interrupted 
only  by  the  dull  thuds  of  the  irons,  which  gave  out  but  a  muf- 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  129 

fled  sound,  owing  to  the  thick  blanket,  covered  with  calico, 
which  was  spread  over  the  table. 

*  Ah,  well !  '  said  Gervaise,  *  it'll  be  a  wonder  if  we  don't 
melt.     It's  almost  impossible  to  keep  a  thing  on.' 

She  was  squatting  on  the  floor,  in  front  of  a  basin, 
starching  some  things.  And  on  account  of  the  heat  she 
simply  wore  a  white  petticoat  and  a  loose  linen  jacket,  the 
sleeves  of  which  were  rolled  up,  showing  her  bare  arms  and 
neck.  She  looked  quite  rosy,  and  was  perspiring  to  such  a 
degree  that  little  locks  of  her  fair,  straying  hair  stuck  to 
her  skin.  With  all  due  care  she  alternately  dipped  caps, 
shirt-fronts,  whole  petticoats,  and  the  trimmings  of  inex- 
pressibles into  the  milk- like  water.  Then  she  rolled  the 
things  up  and  placed  them  in  a  square  basket,  after  dipping 
her  hand  in  a  pail  and  then  shaking  it  over  those  portions 
of  the  garments  which  she  had  not  starched. 

'  This  basketful's  for  you,  Madame  Putois,'  she  resumed. 
'  Look  sharp,  now,  eh  ?  It  dries  at  once,  and  in  an  hour's 
time  I  should  have  to  do  it  all  over  again.' 

Madame  Putois,  a  thin  little  woman  of  forty-five,  stood  iron- 
ing without  a  sign  of  perspiration,  though  she  was  closely  but- 
toned up  in  an  old  brown  jacket.  She  had  not  even  removed 
her  cap,  a  black  one  trimmed  with  green  ribbons,  which  were 
turning  yellow.  And  she  stood  perfectly  upright  in  front  of 
the  table,  which  was  somewhat  too  high  for  her,  sticking  out 
her  elbows,  and  plying  her  irons  with  the  jerky  motion  of  a 
puppet.  But  all  of  a  sudden  she  exclaimed,  *  Oh,  no  !  Made- 
moiselle Clemence,  you  mustn't  take  your  jacket  off.  I  don't 
like  immodesty,  you  know.  Why,  there  are  people  stopping  to 
look  already  !  ' 

Thereupon  tall  Clemence,  between  her  teeth,  called 
Madame  Putois  an  old  hag.  For  her  part  she  was  suffocating, 
and  surely  she  might  make  herself  comfortable,  there  could  be 
no  possible  harm  in  it ;  and  so  saying  she  held  up  her  bare 
arms,  her  plump  shoulders  meanwhile  almost  bursting  the 
straps  of  her  chemise,  which  allowed  a  ghmpse  of  her  full 
bosom.  Fine  as  was  her  figure,  however,  the  life  that  Cle- 
mence led  seemed  hkely  to  make  an  old  woman  of  her  before 
she  became  thirty.  She  often  fell  asleep  over  her  work, 
weary  with  excessive  dissipation.  All  the  same  Gervaise 
kept  her  in  her  employ,  for  no  other  workwoman  could  iron 
a  shirt  with  such  smartness. 

*  They're  my  own  arm«,  you  know  I '  Clemence  ended  by 

K 


I30  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

declaring,  as  she  slapped  her  muscles.     '  And  they  don't  bite, 
they  hurt  nobody.* 

*  Clemence,  put  your  jacket  on  again,*  exclaimed  Ger- 
vaise.  '  Madame  Putois  is  right,  it  isn't  decent  to  exhibit 
oneself  like  that.  I  don't  "want  my  house  to  get  a  bad  repu- 
tation.' 

Thereupon  tall  CMmence  again  put  on  her  loose  linen 
jacket,  grumbhng  the  while :  *  There's  prudery  for  you  1  As 
though  people  had  never  seen  a  woman's  bosom  before  1  ' 

Then  she  vented  her  choler  on  the  apprentice,  that  squint- 
eyed  Augustine,  who  was  ironing  some  stockings  and  hand- 
kerchiefs beside  her.  She  jostled  her  and  pushed  her  with 
her  elbow ;  but  Augustine,  who  was  of  a  surly  disposition, 
and  slyly  spiteful  hke  one  who  is  at  once  a  monstrosity  and 
a  drudge,  revenged  herself  by  spitting  on  the  back  of  the 
other's  dress  without  being  seen.  Gervaise,  meantime,  had 
begun  to  iron  a  cap  belonging  to  Madame  Boche,  which  she 
wished  to  take  great  pains  with.  She  was  gently  passing  a 
little  iron,  rounded  at  both  ends,  inside  the  crown,  when  a 
bony-looking  woman  entered  the  shop,  her  face  covered  with 
red  blotches  and  her  skirts  sopping  wet.  It  was  a  washer- 
woman who  employed  three  assistants  at  the  wash-house  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or. 

*  You've  come  too  soon,  Madame  Bijard  I  *  cried  Gervaise. 
*  I  told  you  to  call  this  evening.  I'm  too  busy  to  attend  to 
you  now ! ' 

However,  as  the  other  began  lamenting  and  fearing  that 
it  would  not  be  possible  to  put  all  the  things  to  soak  that 
day,  she  consented  to  give  her  the  dirty  clothes  at  once. 
They  went  to  fetch  the  bundles  in  the  left-hand  room  where 
Etienne  slept,  returning  with  enormous  armfuls,  which  they 
piled  upon  the  floor  at  the  back  of  the  shop.  The  sorting 
lasted  a  good  half  hour.  Gervaise  raised  heaps  all  round 
her,  throwing  the  shirts  in  one,  the  chemises,  handkerchiefs, 
socks,  and  dish-cloths  in  others.  Whenever  she  came  across 
anything  belonging  to  a  new  customer,  she  marked  it  with 
a  cross  in  red  cotton,  so  that  she  might  know  it  again.  And 
from  all  the  dirty  linen  thus  thrown  about,  an  offensive  odour 
loon  rose  into  the  warm  atmosphere. 

*  Oh,  my  I  what  a  stench  1  *  suddenly  said  Clemence,  hold- 
ing her  nose. 

'  Of  course  there  is  1  If  it  was  clean  they  wouldn't  send 
it    us,'    quietly    explained    Gervaise.     *We    said    fourteen 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  131 

chemises,  didn't    we,   Madame  Bijard?     Fifteen,    sixteen, 

seventeen * 

And  she  continued  counting  aloud.  Used  as  she  was  to 
this  kind  of  thing  she  evinced  no  disgust,  but  thrust  her 
bare,  rosy  arms  into  the  midst  of  all  the  soiled  linen  before 
her.  Yet  a  kind  of  languor  came  upon  her,  as  with  her  head 
lowered  over  the  heaps  she  inhaled  the  strong  odour  which 
rose  from  them.  She  had  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  a 
stool,  bending  almost  double  ;  and  she  slowly  stretched  her 
hands  to  right  and  left,  smiling  vaguely,  with  dreamy  eyes, 
as  though  intoxicating  herself  with  the  powerful  emana- 
tions by  which  she  was  encompassed.  And  it  seemed  as  if 
her  first  inclination  for  idleness  had  come  from  all  that,  from 
the  asphyxiating  odour  of  the  dirty  clothes  that  poisoned  the 
air  around  her.  Just  as  she  was  shaking  out  a  napkin, 
Coupeau  entered  the  shop. 

*  What  a  go  I '  he  stuttered,  *  what  a  sun  there  is  I  It 
goes  bang  through  your  head  I ' 

Then  he  caught  hold  of  the  ironing-table  to  save  himself 
from  falling.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  taken  such  a 
dose.  So  far  he  had  sometimes  come  home  a  little  bit 
lively,  but  nothing  more.  On  this  occasion,  however,  he  had 
a  black  eye,  just  a  friendly  slap  which  he  had  run  against  in 
a  scramble.  His  curly  hair,  which  already  showed  a  few 
grey  streaks,  must  have  dusted  a  corner  in  some  low  wine- 
shop, for  a  cobweb  hung  from  one  of  his  locks  over  the 
nape  of  his  neck.  However,  though  his  features  had  become 
rather  drawn  and  aged,  and  his  under  jaw  projected  more 
than  in  his  youth,  he  still  remained  a  funny  fellow,  a  down- 
right good-natured  chap,  as  he  himself  would  sometimes  say, 
with  a  skin  which  was  still  soft  enough  to  ti^mpt  a  duchess. 

*ril  just  tell  you,' he  resumed,  addressing  Gervaise.  *It 
was  Celery-Root,  you  know,  the  bloke  with  the  wooden-pin. 
Well,  as  he  was  going  back  to  his  native  place,  he  wanted  to 
treat  us.  Oh  1  we  should  have  been  all  right,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  devil  of  a  sun.  In  the  street,  you  see,  every- 
body's iU.     Why  yes,  they're  all  going  round  and  round ! ' 

Then  as  tall  Clemence  laughed  at  the  idea  of  the  people 
in  the  street  being  drunk,  he  was  mastered  by  a  huge  fit 
of  gaiety  which  almost  strangled  him. 

*  Look  at  'em  1  the  blessed  tipplers !  Aren't  they  funny  ? ' 
he  cried.     '  But  it's  not  their  fault,  you  know,  it's  the  sun's.' 

All  the  shop  laughed,  even  Madame  Putois,  who  did  not 

k2 


132  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

like  drunkards.  That  squint-eyed  Augustine  clucked  like  a 
hen,  suffocating,  with  her  mouth  wide  open.  Gervaise,  how- 
ever, suspected  that  Coupeau  had  not  come  straight  home, 
hut  had  spent  an  hour  or  so  with  the  Lorilleux,  who  gave 
him  bad  advice.  When  he  swore  that  he  had  not  been 
near  them,  she,  in  her  turn,  began  to  laugh,  full  of  indul- 
gence for  his  folly,  and  not  even  reproaching  him  with  having 
wasted  another  day. 

*  Good  heavens  1  what  nonsense  he  talks,'  she  murmured. 
'  How  can  one  say  such  stupid  things  ? '  Then,  in  a 
maternal  voice,  she  added,  *  Now,  go  to  bed,  won't  you  ? 
You  see  we're  busy  :  you're  in  our  way.  That  makes  thirty- 
two  handkerchiefs,  Madame  Bijard ;  and  two  more,  thirty- 
four.' 

But  Coupeau  was  not  sleepy.  He  stood  there  swaying 
from  side  to  side  like  a  pendulum,  and  chuckling  in  an 
obstinate,  teasing  manner.  Gervaise,  who  wished  to  get  rid 
of  Madame  Bijard,  called  Cl^mence,  and  made  her  count  the 
things  whilst  she  made  out  a  Hst  of  them.  Then  that 
tall  good-for-nothing  began  to  vent  all  sorts  of  coarse  remarks 
respecting  each  article  that  passed  through  her  hands. 
Augustine  meantime  pricked  up  her  ears  like  the  vicious 
little  thing  she  was,  while  Madame  Putois  pursed  her  lips, 
considering  it  extremely  wrong  to  go  on  like  that  in  the  pre- 
sence of  Coupeau. 

Gervaise,  however,  serious,  and  fully  occupied  with 
what  she  was  about,  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  other.  As 
she  went  on  writing  she  glanced  at  each  article,  so  as  to 
recognise  it ;  and  she  never  made  a  mistake  ;  she  guessed  its 
owner's  name  merely  by  its  aspect.  Those  table  napkins 
belonged  to  the  Goujets,  that  was  evident ;  they  had  not 
been  used  to  wipe  the  saucepans  with,  like  other  people's 
napkins  were.  That  pillow-case  certainly  came  from  the 
Boches,  for  there  was  the  pomatum  with  which  Madame 
Boche  always  smeared  her  things.  It  was  also  unnecessary 
to  poke  one's  nose  mto  M.  Madinier's  garments  ;  they  like- 
wise were  invariably  so  greasy  that  there  was  no  mistaking 
them.  And  Gervaise  knew  of  other  peculiarities,  the  hidden 
life  of  neighbours  who  crossed  the  street  in  silk  skirts,  the 
number  of  stockings,  handkerchiefs,  and  chemises  that  they 
allowed  themselves  each  week,  and  the  way  in  which  some 
of  them  tore  certain  articles  always  in  the  sam  j  places.  She 
Wfts  also    full    of    anecdotes.      Mademoiselle    Eemanjou's 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  133 

chemises,  for  instance,  furnished  material  for  interminable 
comments  ;  they  always  wore  out  about  the  shoulders,  a 
certain  proof  that  the  old  maid  had  pointed,  projecting  bones. 
In  this  wise,  at  every  sorting  of  the  dirty  linen  in  the  shop, 
the  whole  neighbourhood  of  the  Goutte-d'Or  was  passed  in 
review. 

*  Oh  1  here's  something  nice  1 '  cried  Cl^mence,  all  at  once, 
as  she  opened  another  bundle. 

Gervaise,  suddenly  seized  with  a  great  repugnance,  drew 
back.  *  Madame  Gaudron's  bundle  ? '  said  she.  *  Upon  my 
word  I'll  no  longer  wash  for  her,  I'll  find  some  excuse.  I'm 
not  more  particular  than  another.  I've  handled  some  horrid 
things  in  my  time  ;  but  I  really  can't  stand  what  comes  from 
the  Gaudrons.  What  can  they  do  to  get  their  things  into 
such  a  state  ?  ' 

Then  she  requested  Cl^mence  to  look  sharp.  But  the  girl 
went  on  with  her  remarks,  thrusting  her  fingers  through  the 
rents  in  the  things,  and  waving  them  Like  triumphal  banners. 
Meanwhile,  the  heaps  had  grown  higher.  Gervaise,  still 
seated  on  the  edge  of  the  stool,  was  disappearing  between 
mounds  of  petticoats  and  chemises.  Before  her  were  sheets, 
dusters,  and  table-cloths,  an  overflowing  mass  of  uncleanli- 
ness ;  and  amidst  this  rising  flood  she  remained  with  bare 
arms  and  neck,  looking  more  rosy  and  languid  than  ever. 
Then,  regaining  her  sedate  air,  the  smile  of  an  attentive  and 
careful  mistress,  she  forgot  Madame  Gaudron's  dirty  linen,  to 
rummage  with  one  hand  among  the  heaps  so  as  to  make  sure 
that  no  mistake  had  been  made.  That  squint-eyed  Augustine, 
who  delighted  in  shovelling  coke  into  the  stove,  had  now 
filled  it  to  such  an  extent  that  the  cast-iron  plates  were 
becoming  red-hot.  The  sun  rays  still  fell  obliquely  on  the 
window,  and  the  whole  shop  was  in  a  blaze.  Then  Coupeau, 
his  intoxication  increased  by  the  great  heat,  was  overcome  by 
a  sudden  fit  of  tenderness.  With  maudlin  emotion  and  arms 
outstretched  he  advanced  towards  Gervaise  : 

*  You're  a  good  wife,'  he  stammered.  *  I  must  kiss  you, 
reaUy.' 

But  he  caught  his  foot  in  the  petticoats  which  barred  the 
way,  and  nearly  fell. 

*  What  a  nuisance  you  are  1 '  said  Gervaise,  without 
getting  angry.    •  Keep  still,  we've  done  now.' 

But  no,  he  wanted  to  kiss  her.  He  must  do  so,  for  he 
loved  her  so  much.    And  while  stuttering  he  skirted  the  heap 


134  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

of  petticoats,  and  stumbled  against  the  chemises;  then,  as 
in  his  obstinacy  he  still  tried  to  advance,  his  feet  again  caught 
in  the  things,  and  he  fell  flat  with  his  nose  in  the  midst  of  the 
dish-cloths.  Gervaise,  beginning  to  lose  her  temper,  there- 
upon pushed  him  about,  saying  that  he  was  mixing  every- 
thing up.  But  Cl^mence,  and  even  Madame  Putois,  asserted 
that  she  was  wrong.  All  considered  it  was  very  nice  of  him. 
He  only  wanted  to  Mss  her,  and  surely  she  might  let  herself 
be  kissed. 

*  You^re  lucky,  you  are,  Madame  Coupeau,*  declared 
Madame  Bijard,  whose  drunken  husband,  a  locksmith,  often 
beat  her  black  and  blue  when  he  returned  home  of  an  evening. 
*  If  my  old  man  was  like  that  when  he's  had  a  drop,  it  would 
be  a  pleasure  !  * 

Gervaise  had  calmed  down,  and  was  already  regretting  her 
hastiness.  She  helped  Coupeau  on  to  his  legs  again,  and 
then  offered  her  cheek  with  a  smile.  But  the  zinc-worker, 
without  caring  a  button  for  the  presence  of  others,  caught 
her  round  the  waist.  *  It's  not  that  I'm  squeamish,'  he  mur- 
mured ;  *  but  your  dirty  linen  has  such  a  smeU  I  Still  I  love 
you  all  the  same,  you  know.* 

*  Leave  off,  you're  tickling  me,*  she  cried,  laughing  the 
louder.  *  What  a  big  silly  you  are  1  How  can  you  be  so 
absurd  ? ' 

But  he  would  not  let  her  go,  and  she  gradually  yielded  to 
his  embrace,  faint  from  all  the  emanations  of  the  dirty  clothes, 
and  without  repugnance  for  Coupeau's  vinous  breath.  And 
the  full  kiss  which  they  then  exchanged,  lip  to  Up,  amidst 
all  the  filth  of  the  laundry  trade,  was,  so  to  say,  their  first 
tumble  in  the  slow  downward  course  of  their  life. 

Madame  Bijard,  meantime,  had  begun  to  tie  the  things  up 
in  bundles,  talking  the  while  of  her  little  girl  Eulalie,  who, 
although  no  more  than  two  years  old,  was  already  as  sensible 
as  a  grown-up  woman  :  you  could  leave  her  by  herself  in  all 
security ;  she  never  cried,  and  never  played  with  the  matches. 
At  length  the  washerwoman  carried  off  the  bundles  one  by 
one,  her  tall  body  bending  beneath  the  weight  of  them,  and 
her  face  streaked  with  purple  blotches. 

*  It's  becoming  unbearable,  we're  roasting,'  said  Gervaise, 
wiping  her  face  before  resuming  her  work  on  Madame  Boche's 
cap. 

Then,  on  seeing  that  the  stove  was  red-hot,  and  that  the 
hrons,  also,  were  getting  in  the  same  condition,  they  talked  of 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  135 

"boxing  Augustine's  ears.  That  girl  must  have  the  very  devil 
in  her  body  I  One  could  not  turn  one's  back  for  a  moment 
but  she  got  up  to  some  trick  or  other.  They  would  now  have 
to  wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  they  could  use  the  irons. 
Gervaise  covered  the  fire  with  two  shovelfuls  of  cinders,  and 
also  had  the  idea  of  hanging  a  pair  of  sheets  from  the  wire- 
lines near  the  ceiling,  so  as  to  serve  as  blinds,  and  temper  the 
heat  of  the  sun.  Then  they  felt  pretty  comfortable  in  the 
shop.  It  was  still  very  warm  there ;  but  one  might  have 
thought  oneself  shut  in  an  alcove,  quite  away  from  the  world, 
although  behind  the  sheets  one  could  still  hear  people  quickly 
walking  along  the  pavement.  Moreover,  now  that  the  sheets 
served  as  a  screen,  it  was  possible  to  take  one's  ease. 
Cl^mence  therefore  again  removed  her  loose  jacket.  As  for 
Coupeau,  as  he  still  declined  to  go  to  bed,  he  was  allowed  to 
remain,  but  he  had  to  promise  that  he  would  keep  quiet  in 
a  corner,  for  they  had  no  time  to  waste. 

*  Whatever  has  that  vermin  done  with  my  little  iron  ?  * 
muttered  Gervaise,  alluding  to  Augustine. 

They  were  for  ever  seeking  the  little  iron,  and  finding  it 
in  the  most  out-of-the-way  places,  where  the  apprentice,  so 
they  said,  must  have  hidden  it  out  of  spite.  At  last,  however, 
Gervaise  discovered  it,  and  was  able  to  finish  the  crown  of 
Madame  Boche's  cap.  She  had  already  pulled  the  lace 
straight  with  her  hand,  and  flattened  it  with  a  slight  touch  of 
her  iron.  The  front  of  the  cap  was  very  ornamental,  formed 
of  narrow  puffs,  alternating  with  insertions  of  embroidery; 
and  so  Gervaise  took  great  pains  with  it,  silently  and  carefully 
passing  the  puffs  and  the  insertions  over  an  iron  instrument 
shaped  somewhat  like  an  ^g'g^  and  resting  on  a  rod  which  was 
fixed  in  a  wooden  foot. 

Silence  now  reigned  around.  For  a  while,  one  heard 
nothing  but  the  thuds  of  the  irons  deadened  by  the  thick  table- 
covering.  Leaning  over  either  side  of  the  large  square  table, 
the  mistress,  the  two  workwomen  and  the  apprentice,  stood 
busy  at  their  work,  their  shoulders  rounded,  and  their  arms 
for  ever  moving  backwards  and  forwards.  Each  on  her  right 
hand  had  her  stand,  a  flat  brick  scorched  by  the  hot  irons. 
In  the  middle  of  the  table,  a  strip  of  rag  and  a  little  brush 
were  soaking  at  the  edge  of  a  soup-plate  full  of  clear  water ; 
while  a  bunch  of  large  Uhes — a  tuft  of  huge  snowy  flowers 
suggesting  some  nook  of  a  royal  garden— bloomed  in  an  old 
glass   jar    which    had    formerly    contained    cherry- brandy. 


136  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Madame  Putois  had  started  on  the  basket  of  linen,  towels, 
pants,  cuffs,  and  cotton  jackets,  which  Gervaise  had 
previously  prepared.  Augustine  was  dawdling  over  her 
stockings  and  dish-cloths,  her  nose  up  in  the  air,  as  she 
watched  a  big  blue-bottle  which  was  buzzing  about.  As  for 
tall  Clemence,  she  had  just  reached  her  thirty-fifth  shirt  since 
the  morning. 

*  Always  wine,  never  any  of  your  spirits,  which  break  a 
man  to  pieces  I '  suddenly  exclaimed  the  zinc-worker,  who  felt 
the  necessity  of  making  this  declaration.  *  Spirits  do  me 
harm,  I'll  have  none  of  'em  I ' 

Clemence  took  an  iron  from  the  stove  with  her  leather 
holder,  in  which  a  piece  of  sheet  iron  was  inserted,  and  held 
it  to  her  cheek  to  see  how  hot  it  was.  Then  she  rubbed  it  on 
her  brick,  wiped  it  on  a  piece  of  rag  hanging  from  her  waist- 
band and  started  on  her  thirty-fifth  shirt,  first  of  all  ironing 
the  shoulders  and  the  sleeves. 

*  Bah  !  Monsieur  Coupeau,'  said  she,  after  a  minute  or 
two,  *a  little  nip  of  brandy  isn't  bad.  It  sets  me  going. 
Besides,  the  sooner  you're  merry,  the  jolher  it  is.  Oh  1  I 
don't  deceive  myself;  I  know  that  I  sha'n't  make  old  bones.* 

*  What  a  nuisance  you  are  with  your  funereal  ideas !  ' 
interrupted  Madame  Putois,  who  did  not  like  to  hear  people 
talk  of  anything  sad. 

Coupeau  had  risen,  somewhat  angrily,  thinking  that  he 
had  been  accused  of  drinking  brandy.  He  swore  on  his  own 
head,  and  on  the  heads  of  his  wife  and  child,  that  there 
wasn't  a  drop  of  spirits  in  his  veins.  And  he  went  up  to 
Clemence  and  blew  in  her  face,  so  that  she  might  smell  his 
breath.  Then  glancing  at  her  bare  shoulders,  he  began  to 
chuckle.  She,  after  folding  the  back  of  the  shirt  and  ironing 
it  on  either  side,  was  now  doing  the  wristbands  and  the 
collar.  But,  as  he  pushed  against  her,  he  caused  her  to  make 
a  crease,  and  she  was  obliged  to  take  the  brush  from  the  edge 
of  the  soup-plate  to  damp  the  starch  again. 

'Madame,'  said  she,  'do  make  him  leave  off  bothering 
me.* 

'Leave  her  alone;  it's  stupid  to  go  on  like  that,'  quietly 
observed  Gervaise.     *  We're  in  a  hurry,  do  you  hear  ?  ' 

They  were  in  a  hurry.  Well  I  what  then  ?  It  wasn't  his 
fault.  He  was  doing  no  harm.  Was  it  no  longer  allowable 
to  look  at  the  beautiful  things  that  God  had  made  ?  Could 
anybody  deny  now  that  Clemence  had  precious  fine  arms  ? 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  137 

Then  he  went  on,  pouring  forth  coarse  and  maudlin  compli- 
ments. The  girl  laughed,  and  soon  began  to  joke  with  him, 
her  shoulders  shaking  with  laughter  as  she  continued  her 
work. 

That  squint-eyed  Augustine  almost  burst  with  merriment, 
so  funny  did  she  find  the  coarse  jests  which  were  bandied 
about.  And  thereupon  the  others  bullied  her.  There  was  a 
brat  for  you,  who  laughed  at  words  she  ought  not  to  under- 
stand I  Then,  when  an  iron  was  handed  her  by  Clemence — 
for  she  finished  up  the  irons  on  the  stockings  and  dish-cloths, 
when  they  were  no  longer  hot  enough  for  the  starched  things 
— she  took  hold  of  it  so  clumsily,  that  she  badly  burnt  her 
wrist.  At  this  she  sobbed,  and  accused  Clemence  of  having 
burnt  her  on  purpose.  The  other,  who  had  gone  to  fetch  a 
very  hot  iron  for  the  front  of  the  shirt  on  which  she  was 
engaged,  at  once  threatened  to  iron  both  ears  for  her  if  she 
did  not  leave  off  squealing.  Then  she  placed  a  piece  of 
flannel  under  the  front,  over  which  she  slowly  passed  the 
iron,  giving  the  starch  time  to  show  up  and  dry.  The  front 
gradually  became  as  stiff  and  as  shiny  as  cardboard. 

'  By  golly ! '  swore  Coupeau,  who  was  moving  about 
near  the  girl  with  all  a  drunkard's  obstinacy. 

And  with  a  laugh  that  resembled  the  creaking  of  a  pulley 
in  want  of  grease,  he  raised  himself  on  tip-toe.  Clemence, 
leaning  heavily  over  the  ironing-table,  her  wrists  twisted 
and  her  elbows  projecting,  was  just  then  bending  her  neck  in 
a  last  effort.  Her  bare  flesh  seemed  to  swell,  her  shoulders 
rose  with  the  slow  play  of  the  muscles  beating  beneath  her 
soft  skin,  and  her  bosom  heaved,  moist  with  perspiration. 
Then  Coupeau  became  playful. 

*  Madame  !  madame  I  *  cried  Clemence,  *  please  make  him 
leave  off!  I  shall  go  away  if  it  continues.  I  won't  be 
insulted.* 

Gervaise  had  just  put  Madame  Boche's  cap  on  a  linen- 
covered  stand,  shaped  like  a  mushroom,  and  was  minutely 
goffering  the  lace.  She  raised  her  eyes  at  the  moment  when 
the  zinc-worker  was  again  drawing  close  to  Clemence.  '  Eeally, 
Coupeau,  you're  too  fooHsh,'  said  she,  with  a  vexed  air,  as 
though  she  were  scolding  a  child  who  persisted  in  eating  jam 
without  bread.     *  You  must  come  to  bed.' 

'  Yes,  go  to  bed.  Monsieur  Coupeau,  it  will  be  far  better,' 
exclaimed  Madame  Putois. 

*  Ah  1  well,'  he  stuttered,  without  ceasing  to  chuckle, 


138  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

*  you're  all  precious  particular !  So  one  can't  have  a  bit  of 
fun  now  ?  Just  as  though  one  can't  squeeze  a  lady  without 
meaning  any  harm.  It's  simply  to  show  that  one  admires 
the  sex.  And  besides,  why  does  the  big  blonde  show  her 
shoulders  like  that  ?     It  isn't  proper  1  ' 

In  spite  of  this  protest,  however,  Gervaise,  without  any 
show  of  violence,  caught  hold  of  him  to  lead  him  away.  He 
struggled,  just  by  way  of  a  joke,  whilst  she  pushed  him 
towards  the  room  at  the  rear  of  the  shop.  Then  Gervaise  was 
heard  taking  his  shoes  off,  undressing  him,  and  maternally 
scolding  him,  while  he  continued  wriggling  and  jesting  with 
her. 

When  she  returned  to  the  shop,  having  tucked  him  in  as 
carefully  as  if  he  had  been  a  child,  that  squint-eyed  Augustine 
was  receiving  a  sound  clout  from  Clemence.  It  was  on 
account  of  a  dirty  iron,  which  Madame  Putois  had  taken  from 
the  stove.  She,  suspecting  nothing,  had  blackened  one  side 
of  a  jacket ;  and  as  Clemence,  to  avoid  the  imputation  of 
having  neglected  to  clean  her  iron,  accused  Augustine,  and 
swore  by  everything  holy  that  she  had  not  used  it,  in  spite  of 
the  dab  of  burnt  starch  that  was  still  sticking  to  it,  the 
apprentice,  incensed  by  such  an  unjust  accusation,  had  openly 
spat  on  the  front  of  her  skirt.  And  thereupon  she  had 
received  a  good  sound  clout.  However,  the  squint-eyed  one 
kept  back  her  tears,  scraped  the  iron,  rubbed  a  piece  of  candle 
over  it,  and  then  wiped  it  clean ;  but,  from  that  moment,  each 
time  that  she  had  occasion  to  pass  in  the  rear  of  Clemence,  she 
spat  at  her  again,  laughing  inwardly  whenever  the  saliva  ran 
down  the  tall  one's  skirt. 

Gervaise  was  now  again  goffering  the  lace  of  Madame 
Boche's  cap.  And  in  the  sullen  calm  which  ensued,  one 
could  hear  Coupeau's  husky  voice  proceeding  from  the  depths 
of  the  back-shop.  He  was  still  in  a  good  humour,  and  was 
laughing  to  himself  as  he  vented  disjointed  phrases.  *  How 
stupid  my  wife  is  1  How  stupid  of  her  to  put  me  to  bed  ! 
Eeally  !  it's  too  stupid  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  when  one 
isn't  a  bit  sleepy  ! ' 

But  all  of  a  sudden,  he  snored.  Then,  Gervaise  gave  a 
sigh  of  relief,  happy  to  know  that  he  was  at  length  resting, 
sleeping  off  his  intoxication  on  two  good  mattresses.  And 
she  spoke  out  amidst  the  silence,  in  a  slow  continuous  voice, 
without  taking  her  eyes  from  the  little  goffering  irons,  which 
she  deftly  handled. 


THE  LAUNDRV-SnOP  139 

'You  see,  he  hasn't  his  wits  about  him,  so  one  can't  be 
angry.  Even  if  I  were  to  be  harsh  with  him,  it  would  do  no 
good.  I  prefer  to  say  just  what  he  says,  and  get  him  to  bed ; 
in  that  way  at  all  events  it's  soon  all  over,  and  I'm  at  ease. 
Besides,  he  isn't  ill-natured,  he  loves  me  very  much.  You 
saw  just  now,  he  would  have  gone  through  fire  and  water  to 
kiss  me.  That's  very  nice  of  him,  too  ;  for  there  are  many 
who,  when  they  drink  too  much,  go  off  on  the  loose.  But  he 
comes  straight  home  here.  He  jokes  with  you,  but  it  doesn't 
go  any  further.  You  mustn't  be  offended,  Clemence.  You 
know  what  men  are  when  they  are  tipsy ;  they'd  kill  father 
and  mother,  and  not  even  have  the  faintest  recollection  of  it 
afterwards.  Oh  I  I  forgive  him  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
He's  hke  all  the  others,  you  know  I ' 

She  said  all  this  in  a  languid,  passionless  way,  accustomed 
as  she  was  to  Coupeau's  goings  on ;  and  although  she  still 
sought  to  give  reasons  for  the  tolerant  spirit  in  which  she 
treated  him,  she  no  longer  saw  any  harm  in  his  squeezing  the 
waists  of  the  girls  whom  she  employed.  When  she  had 
finished,  silence  ensued,  and  was  not  again  broken.  Madame 
Putois,  every  time  she  wanted  an  article,  pulled  her  basket 
from  under  the  chintz  hanging  around  the  table  ;  then,  when 
she  had  ironed  the  garment,  she  raised  her  little  arms,  and 
placed  it  on  a  shelf.  Clemence  was  now  folding  her  thirty- 
fifth  shirt,  with  the  aid  of  her  iron.  There  was  no  end  of 
work ;  they  had  reckoned  that  they  would  not  get  finished 
till  eleven  at  night,  even  though  they  hurried  all  they  could. 

And  now,  having  nothing  to  distract  their  attention,  they 
all  worked  away  with  a  will.  The  bare  arms  moved  to  and 
fro,  illumining  the  white  linen  with  ruddy  reflections.  The 
stove  had  again  been  filled  with  coke,  and  as  the  sun,  gliding 
between  the  sheets,  shone  full  upon  it,  one  could  perceive  the 
great  heat  ascending  in  the  ray,  an  invisible  flame  which 
made  the  air  quiver.  The  temperature  was  becoming  so 
stifling  beneath  the  petticoats  and  table-cloths  drying  against 
the  ceiling,  that  squint-eyed  Augustine,  having  expended  all 
her  saliva,  let  a  bit  of  her  tongue  protrude  at  the  corner  of 
her  mouth.  There  was  a  strange  conglomeration  of  odours, 
the  emanations  of  the  over-heated  stove  and  the  sour  starch 
water,  a  smell  as  of  something  scorching  from  the  irons,  an 
unsavoury  steaming  as  in  a  bathroom,  to  which  the  four  women, 
almost  dislocating  their  shoulders  as  they  worked  away,  added 
the  strong  odour  of  their  chignons  and  perspiring  necks ; 


I40  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

whilst  the  bunch  of  lilies,  fading  in  the  stale  greenish  water  of 
the  glass  jar,  diffused  a  very  pure  and  powerful  perfume. 
And  now  and  again,  amidst  the  thuds  of  the  irons  and  the 
grating  of  the  poker  in  the  stove,  Coupeau's  snore  rumbled 
on  with  the  loud  rhythmical  tick-tack  of  a  clock,  regulating  the 
heavy  toil  of  the  shop. 

On  the  morrow  of  a  carouse,  the  zinc-worker  always  had 
a  headache,  a  splitting  headache  which  kept  him  all  day  with 
his  hair  out  of  curl,  and  his  phiz  all  swollen  and  askew. 
He  got  up  late  on  those  occasions  ;  and  would  hang  about  the 
shop  and  expectorate,  unable  to  make  up  his  mind  to  go  to 
work.  This  meant  the  loss  of  another  day.  In  the  morning, 
he  would  complain  that  his  legs  were  as  nerveless  as  bits  of 
cotton,  and  would  call  himself  a  big  booby  to  guzzle  to  such 
an  extent,  as  it  simply  broke  one's  constitution.  But  then  a 
fellow  met  a  host  of  jolly  dogs  who  would  not  let  him  go  ;  so 
he  began  to  booze  in  spite  of  himself,  got  caught  in  all  sorts 
of  traps,  and  ended  by  being  bowled  over,  and  pretty  roughly 
too  !  But,  good  heavens,  no,  said  he,  it  should  never  happen 
to  him  again !  he  did  not  intend  to  cock  his  toes  in  a  boozing- 
ken  in  the  prime  of  his  life.  After  lunch,  however,  he  would 
pull  himself  straight,  and  hum  !  and  ha  1  just  to  prove  to 
himself  that  his  chest  was  stni  sound.  And  then  he  would 
begin  to  deny  the  carouse  of  the  day  before ;  he  had  perhaps 
had  a  drop  or  two,  but  that  was  all.  Such  fellows  as  he,  ever 
fit,  with  the  devil's  own  muscles,  and  able  to  drink 
anything  and  everything  without  blinking  an  eye,  were  no 
longer  made. 

Then,  for  the  whole  afternoon,  he  would  hang  about  the 
neighbourhood.  When  he  had  thoroughly  badgered  the 
workwomen,  his  wife  would  give  him  twenty  sous  to  clear  out. 
And  off  he  would  go  to  buy  his  tobacco  at  the  *  Little  Civet,' 
in  the  Rue  des  Poissonniers,  where,  whenever  he  met  a  friend, 
he  generally  indulged  in  a  brandied  plum.  And  afterwards,  he 
spent  the  rest  of  the  twenty  sous  at  old  Fran9ois's,  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  where  some  pretty  wine  was  to  be 
had,  something  quite  young  and  fresh,  which  tickled  your  gullet. 
The  place  was  a  boozing-ken  of  the  old  style,  a  dark  shop  with  a 
low  ceiling,  and  a  smoky  room  at  the  side,  in  which  eatables 
were  sold.  Coupeau  would  stop  there  till  night-time,  tossing 
and  gambling  for  canons  of  wine.^     Fran9ois  supplied  him  on 

'  In  Paris  wine-shops,  draught  wine  is  sold  by  the  litre  or  quart,  the 
ehopine  or  pint,  the  demi-setier,  equivalent  to  about  one-fifth  of  a  litre, 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  141 

iick,  and  had  formally  promised  that  he  would  never  send  the  bill 
in  to  the  wife.  And  after  all  a  man  must  surely  rinse  his  throat 
a  bit,  to  get  rid  of  the  muck  of  the  day  before.  Unfortunately,  one 
glass  of  wine  leads  to  another.  Withal  Coupeau  remained  a 
jolly  fellow,  not  caring  a  rap  about  the  fair  sex — that's  true  ; 
but  loving  a  spree,  and  colouring  his  nose  every  now  and  then, 
in  a  genteel  manner,  full  of  contempt  for  those  pigs  of  fellows 
who  succumbed  to  alcohol,  and  whom  one  never  saw 
sober  !  For  his  own  part,  after  such  afternoons  as  these,  he 
went  home  as  gay  and  as  gallant  as  a  lark. 

*  Has  your  sweetheart  been  ?  '  he  would  sometimes  ask 
Gervaise  by  way  of  teasing  her.  *  One  never  sees  him  now  ; 
I  must  go  and  rout  him  out.* 

The  sweetheart  was  Goujet  who,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
avoided  calling  too  often,  for  fear  lest  he  should  be  in  the 
way,  and  also  make  people  talk.  Yet  he  occasionally  found 
a  pretext  for  coming,  such  as  bringing  the  washing  ;  and  he 
would  pass  no  end  of  times  along  the  street.  There  was  a 
corner  right  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  in  which  he  hked  to  sit 
for  hours,  smoking  his  short  pipe  and  never  stirring.  Every 
ten  days  or  so,  in  the  evening  after  his  dinner,  he  would 
venture  upon  a  visit,  and  take  up  his  favourite  position.  He 
was  no  talker  ;  one  might  have  thought  his  lips  sealed,  as  he 
sat  there  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Gervaise.  He  only  removed 
his  pipe  to  laugh  at  what  she  said.  When  they  were  working 
late  on  Saturdays,  he  would  stay  on,  apparently  amusing  him- 
self even  more  than  if  he  had  gone  to  a  theatre.  At  times, 
the  women  continued  ironing  until  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  A  lamp  hung  by  a  wire  from  the  ceiling,  its  shade 
casting  a  large  circle  of  brilliant  light  upon  the  linen,  which 
looked  as  soft  and  as  white  as  snow.  The  apprentice  put  up 
the  window  shutters  ;  but  as  the  July  nights  were  very  hot, 
the  shop  door  was  left  open.  And  as  time  went  on,  the 
women  would  unfasten  their  jackets,  so  as  to  be  more  at  their 
ease.  Their  skins  assumed  a  golden  hue  in  the  lamp-light, 
Gervaise's  especially  ;  she  had  become  quite  plump,  her  fair 
shoulders  had  the  gloss  of  silk,  and  her  neck  was  like  a  baby's, 
with  a  dimple  which  Goujet  could  have  drawn  from  memory, 
he  knew  it  so  well.  And  as  he  sat  there  in  silence,  the  fierce 
heat  from  the  stove,  and  the  smell  of  the  clothes  steaming 
beneath  the  irons,  gradually  overpowered  him,  till  he  sank 

and  the  canon,  representing  one-eighth  of  the  same  measure.  The  price 
of  a  canon  is  nowadays  usually  two  sous,  or  a  penny. 


142  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

into  a  kind  of  stupor,  with  languid  mind,  and  eyes  gazin^  at 
those  hurrying  women,  who  so  incessantly  swung  their  bare 
arms,  spending  their  night  in  toil,  in  order  that  their  cus- 
tomers might  array  themselves  in  Sunday  smartness  on  the 
morrow.  All  a-round  the  shop,  the  neighbouring  houses  went 
to  sleep,  the  great  silence  of  slumber  slowly  fell.  Midnight 
struck,  then  one  o'clock,  then  two  o'clock.  Vehicles  and 
pedestrians  alike  had  disappeared.  And  now  upon  the  dark 
deserted  street,  Gervaise's  door  alone  cast  a  ray  of  light, 
which  looked  like  a  strip  of  bright  yellow  stuff  spread  over  the 
ground.  Occasionally  a  step  was  heard  in  the  distance,  and 
a  man  drew  near ;  and,  as  he  stepped  across  the  ray  of  light, 
he  stretched  his  neck,  surprised  at  the  noise  of  the  irons 
which  he  heard,  and  then  went  on,  carrying  away  with 
him  a  vision  of  bare-breasted  women  espied  athwart  a  ruddy 
mist. 

Goujet,  seeing  that  Gervaise  hardly  knew  what  to  do  with 
^fitienne,  and  wishing  to  deliver  the  lad  from  Coupeau's  kicks, 
had  engaged  him  to  blow  the  bellows  at  the  factory  where  he 
worked.  The  calling  of  bolt-maker,  though  it  was  hardly  one 
to  inspire  pride,  on  account  of  the  dirt  of  the  forge  and  the 
monotony  of  ever  hammering  similar  pieces  of  iron,  was 
nevertheless  a  well-paid  one,  at  which  ten  and  even  twelve 
francs  a  day  could  be  earned.  The  youngster,  who  was  then 
twelve  years  old,  would  soon  be  able  to  enter  it,  should  it 
prove  to  his  liking.  And  thus  Etienne  had  become  another 
link  between  the  laundress  and  the  blacksmith,  who  every 
now  and  then  would  bring  the  child  home  and  tell  his  mother 
of  his  good  conduct.  Everyone  said  with  a  laugh,  that  Goujet 
was  smitten  with  Gervaise.  She  knew  it  well  enough,  and 
whenever  it  was  mentioned  would  blush  like  a  young  girl,  a 
flush  of  modesty  colouring  her  cheeks  with  the  bright  tints  of 
the  love-apple.  Ah  !  the  poor  dear  fellow,  he  never  embarrassed 
her  I  He  had  never  said  a  word  to  her  about  it,  had  never 
made  an  equivocal  gesture,  never  uttered  a  rude  word.'  One 
did  not  meet  many  such  honourable  men.  And,  without 
admitting  it,  Gervaise  felt  a  great  joy  at  being  loved  in  this 
wise,  as  though  she  were  a  holy  virgin.  Whenever  anything 
bothered  her  very  much,  she  thought  of  the  blacksmith,  and 
that  consoled  her.  If  they  found  themselves  alone  together, 
they  experienced  no  embarrassment ;  but  smihngly  looked 
each  other  full  in  the  face,  without  saying  what  they  felt. 
Theirs  was  a  sensible  affection,  free  from  all  sexual  thought, 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  143 

because  it  is  ever  best  to  preserve  one's  peace  of  mind,  when 
one  can  manage  to  do  so,  and  at  the  same  time  be  happy. 

However,  towards  the  end  of  the  summer,  Nana  began  to 
upset  the  whole  house.  She  was  now  six  years  old,  and 
Seemed  Hkely  to  be  a  thorough  good-for-nothing.  In  order 
to  avoid  having  her  for  ever  under  her  feet,  her  mother  took 
her  each  morning  to  a  little  school  in  the  Rue  Polonceau, 
kept  by  a  Mademoiselle  Josse.  Here  Nana  pinned  her  play- 
fellows' dresses  together,  filled  the  school-mistress's  snuff-box 
with  ashes,  and  invented  other  and  much  less  decent  tricks 
which  may  not  be  mentioned.  On  two  occasions  Mademoiselle 
Josse  expelled  her,  and  then  took  her  back  again  in  order 
not  to  lose  the  six  francs  a  month  which  her  schooling 
represented.  Directly  lessons  were  over,  Nana  would  avenge 
herself  for  having  been  kept  in,  by  making  no  end  of  a  racket 
both  under  the  porch  and  in  the  courtyard  of  the  house, 
whither  the  ironers,  whose  ears  could  not  endure  the  noise 
she  made,  usually  sent  her  to  play.  There  she  would  meet 
Pauline,  the  Boches'  daughter,  and  Victor,  the  son  of 
Gervaise's  old  employer — a  big  booby  of  ten,  who  delighted 
in  playing  with  very  little  girls.  Madame  Fauconnier,  who 
had  not  quarrelled  with  the  Coupeaus,  would  herself  send  her 
son.  In  the  house,  too,  there  was  an  extraordinary  swarm  of 
youngsters,  flocks  of  children  who  rolled  down  the  four  stair- 
cases at  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  alighted  on  the  pavement 
of  the  courtyard  like  so  many  noisy  pillaging  sparrows.  Madame 
Gaudron  alone  contributed  nine,  both  dark  and  fair,  with 
tangled  hair  and  dirty  noses,  breeches  which  almost  came  up 
to  their  eyes,  stockings  which  hung  down  over  their  shoes, 
and  torn  jackets  which  showed  glimpses  of  white  skin  under 
the  rags.  Another  woman,  a  baker's  carrier,  contributed 
seven  children.  Bands  came  forth  from  nearly  every  room. 
And  among  this  multitude  of  rosy  vermin,  whose  faces  only 
got  washed  when  it  happened  to  rain,  were  tall,  thin,  stringy 
urchins,  ".hubby  ones  who  already  had  corporations  like  men, 
and  tiny  little  ones,  but  recently  escaped  from  their  cradles, 
who  were  still  so  silly,  and  so  unsteady  on  their  legs,  that 
they  went  down  upon  all  fours  when  they  wanted  to  run. 

Nana  reigned  supreme  over  this  host  of  urchins  ;  she 
played  the  part  of  Miss  Order-about  with  girls  twice  her  own 
size,  and  only  deigned  to  rehnquish  a  little  of  her  power  in 
favour  of  PauHne  and  Victor,  intimate  confidants  who  en- 
forced her  oommands.     This  precious  chit  ever  wanted  to  play 


144  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

at  being  mamma,  undressing  the  smallest  ones  to  dress  them 
again,  examining  the  others,  and  exercising  over  one  and  all 
the  capricious  despotism  of  a  grown-up  person  with  a  vicious 
disposition.  Under  her  leadership  the  gang  of  youngsters  got 
up  to  tricks  for  which  they  ought  to  have  been  well  spanked. 
They  paddled  in  the  coloured  water  from  the  dyer's,  and  emerged 
from  it  with  their  legs  stained  blue  or  red  as  high  as  the 
knees.  Then  off  they  flew  to  the  locksmith's,  where  they 
purloined  nails  and  filings,  and  next  they  alighted  amidst  the 
carpenter's  shavings,  huge  heaps  of  shavings,  which  pleased 
them  immensely,  and  in  which  they  rolled  about  head  over 
heels.  The  courtyard  belonged  to  them,  and  resounded  with 
the  clatter  of  their  little  shoes  scuttling  hither  and  thither, 
and  the  piercing  notes  of  their  voices  which  rang  out  shrilly 
each  time  they  took  a  fresh  flight.  On  certain  days  even  the 
courtyard  did  not  suffice  them;  for  they  rushed  down  into 
the  cellars,  raced  up  again,  climbed  to  the  summit  of  a  flight 
of  stairs,  skurried  along  a  passage,  came  down  into  the  court- 
yard, ascended  another  staircase,  followed  another  passage, 
and  kept  on  at  the  game  for  hours  together  without  tiring,  yell- 
ing all  the  time,  and  shaking  the  colossal  house  as  with  the 
gallop  of  destructive  beasts  let  loose  in  every  hole  and  corner. 

'  Aren't  they  abominable,  those  little  toads  ?  '  cried  Madame 
Boche.  *  I  really  can't  understand  how  people  have  so  many 
children.     And  yet  they  complain  of  having  no  bread  !  ' 

Boche  retorted  that  children  and  misery  went  together, 
just  like  mushrooms  and  manure.  His  wife  was  for  ever 
shouting  at  the  youngsters,  and  menacing  them  with  her 
broom.  She  ended  by  fastening  the  door  leading  to  the 
cellars,  because  she  learnt  from  Pauline,  to  whom  she 
gave  a  couple  of  clouts,  that  Nana  had  taken  to  playing  at 
being  the  doctor  down  there  in  the  dark  ;  the  vicious  little 
hussy  pretended  to  cure  the  others  with  stick-plaster  and  strap 
oil. 

Well,  one  afternoon,  there  came  a  frightful  scene.  It  was 
bound  to  have  come,  sooner  or  later.  Nana  had  thought  of  a 
very  funny  little  game.  She  had  stolen  one  of  Madame 
Boche's  wooden  shoes  from  outside  the  doorkeeper's  room, 
and  having  tied  a  string  to  it,  she  began  dragging  it  about 
like  a  cart.  Victor,  on  his  side,  had  the  idea  of  filling  it  with 
potato  parings.  Then,  a  procession  was  formed.  Nana  came 
first,  dragging  the  wooden  shoe,  while  Pauline  and  Victor 
walked  on  her  right  and  left.     Then  the   whole  crowd  of 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  145 

urchins  followed  in  due  order,  the  big  ones  first,  the  little  ones 
next,  all  jostling  one  another.  A  baby  in  skirts,  about  as  tall 
as  a  Wellington  boot,  with  an  old  padded  cap  cocked  on  the 
side  of  its  head,  brought  up  the  rear.  And  the  procession 
chanted  something  sad,  with  plenty  of  ohs  1  and  ahs  I  for 
Nana  had  said  that  they  were  going  to  play  at  a  funeral ;  the 
potato  parings  representing  the  body.  When  they  had  gone 
the  round  of  the  courtyard,  they  began  again,  and  they  all 
thought  it  immensely  amusing. 

'  What  can  they  be  up  to  ?  *  murmured  Madame  Boche, 
as  she  emerged  from  her  room  to  see,  ever  mistrustful  and  on 
the  alert.  And  when  she  understood  :  *  But  it's  my  shoe  1  * 
she  furiously  exclaimed.     *  Ah,  the  young  rogues  I ' 

Forthwith  she  distributed  numerous  smacks,  clouted  Nana 
on  both  cheeks,  and  administered  a  kick  to  Pauline,  that  great 
goose  who  allowed  the  others  to  take  her  mother's  shoe.  It 
so  happened,  however,  that  Gervaise  was  just  then  filling  a 
bucket  at  the  tap,  and  when  she  beheld  Nana  choking  with 
sobs  and  bleeding  from  the  nose  she  almost  sprang  at  the  door- 
keeper's chignon.  It  was  not  right  to  hit  a  child  as  though  it 
were  an  ox.  One  could  have  no  heart,  one  must  be  the  lowest 
of  the  low  to  do  such  a  thing,  she  cried.  Madame  Boche 
naturally  replied  in  a  similar  strain :  When  one  had  such  a 
little  beast  of  a  girl  as  Nana,  one  ought  to  keep  her  locked  up. 
At  length,  Boche  himself  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  called 
to  his  wife  to  come  in  instead  of  entering  into  so  many 
explanations  with  *  mere  filth.'  That  was  his  way  of  putting 
it.     And  of  course  a  complete  rupture  followed. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  things  had  not  gone  on  at  all  pleasantly 
between  the  doorkeeper  and  the  Coupeaus  for  a  month  past. 
Gervaise,  who  was  of  a  very  generous  nature,  had  continually 
bestowed  wine,  broth,  oranges,  and  slices  of  cake  on  the  Boches, 
One  evening  she  had  taken  what  was  left  of  some  endive  and 
beetroot  salad  to  the  doorkeepers'  room,  knowing  that  the 
latter  was  extremely  fond  of  salad  and  would  as  a  rule  do  any- 
thing for  such  a  treat.  But,  on  the  morrow,  she  became  pale 
with  rage  on  hearing  Mademoiselle  Remanjou  relate  that 
Madame  Boche  had  with  an  air  of  disgust  thrown  the  salad 
away  in  the  presence  of  several  persons,  under  the  pretext 
that  she  was  not  yet  reduced,  thank  goodness  1  to  feeding  upon 
things  which  others  had  messed  about.  From  that  moment 
Gervaise  put  a  stop  to  all  the  presents  :  there  were  no  more 
bottles  of  wine,  no  more  cups  of  broth,  no  more   oranges, 


146  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

no  more  slices  of  cake  for  the  Boches,  in  fact,  there  was 
nothing. 

It  was  quite  a  sight  to  see  the  wry  faces  that  the  doorkeepers 
pulled  1  It  seemed  to  them  like  a  robbery  on  the  part  of  the 
Coupeaus.  Gervaise  now  realised  what  a  mistake  she  had 
made  all  along ;  for  if  she  had  not  been  so  stupid  as  to  stuff 
those  people  they  would  not  have  got  into  bad  habits,  but 
would  have  continued  behaving  nicely  to  her.  Now,  however, 
the  doorkeepers  found  nothing  too  bad  to  say  of  her.  At  the 
October  quarter,  Madame  Boche  treated  M.  Marescot,  the  land- 
lord, to  no  end  of  slanderous  stories  about  the  laundress 
spending  all  her  profits  in  gormandising,  and  this  simply 
because  Gervaise  happened  to  be  a  day  behindhand  with  her 
rent.  M.  Marescot,  who  was  not  very  polite  either,  thereupon 
entered  the  shop  with  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  demanded  his 
money,  which,  by  the  way,  was  handed  to  him  at  once. 
Naturally  enough,  too,  the  Boches  had  now  shaken  hands  with 
the  Lorilleux,  with  whom  they  tippled,  displaying  all  the 
sentimental  emotion  to  which  the  reconciliation  gave  rise. 
They  would  never  have  quarrelled,  said  they,  had  it  not  been 
for  that  Hobbler,  who  would  have  stirred  up  strife  even 
between  mountains.  Ah,  the  Boches  knew  her  well  now ; 
they  could  understand  how  much  the  Lorilleux  must  suffer. 
And  whenever  she  passed  under  the  porch  they  aU  affected 
to  sneer  at  her. 

One  day,  however,  Gervaise  went  up  to  see  the  Lorilleux. 
It  was  with  reference  to  Mother  Coupeau,  who  was  now  sixty- 
seven  years  old.  Her  eyesight  was  almost  completely  gone, 
and  her  legs  were  no  longer  what  they  had  been.  Obliged  as 
she  was  to  give  up  her  last  place,  she  seemed  likely  to  die  of 
hunger  if  assistance  were  not  forthcoming.  Gervaise  thought 
it  shameful  that  a  woman  of  her  age,  having  three  children, 
should  be  thus  abandoned  by  heaven  and  earth.  And  as 
Coupeau  refused  to  speak  to  the  Lorilleux  on  the  subject  him- 
self, saying  that  she,  Gervaise,  could  very  well  go  and  do  so 
if  she  liked,  the  young  woman  went  up  in  a  fit  of  indignation, 
which  made  her  heart  dilate. 

"When  she  reached  the  Lorilleux'  door,  she  entered  like  a 
tempest,  without  knocking.  Nothing  had  been  changed  since 
the  evening  of  the  first  meeting,  when  the  chain-makers  had 
received  her  so  ungraciously.  The  same  strip  of  faded  woollen 
stuff  separated  the  living  and  bedroom  from  the  workshop, 
the  pair  forming  a  lodging  like  a  gun-barrel,  as  long  and  as 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  147 

narrow  as  if  intended  for  an  eel.  Eight  at  the  back,  Lorilleux, 
leaning  over  his  bench,  was  squeezing  the  links  of  a  piece  of 
herring-bone  chain,  whilst  his  wife,  standing  in  front  of  the 
vice,  passed  some  gold  wire  through  the  draw-plate.  In  the 
broad  daylight  the  little  forge  showed  a  rosy  reflection. 

*  Yes,  it's  1 1 '  said  Gervaise.  *I  dare  say  you're  surprised 
to  see  me,  as  we're  at  daggers  drawn.  But  I've  come  neither 
for  you  nor  for  myself,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  It's  for 
Mother  Coupeau  that  I've  come.  Yes,  I  have  come  to  see  if 
we're  going  to  let  her  beg  her  bread  from  the  charity  of 
others.' 

*  Ah,  well,  that's  a  fine  way  to  burst  in  upon  people  !  * 
murmured  Madame  Lorilleux.  *  One  must  have  rare  impu- 
dence to  do  such  a  thing  1  '  Then  she  turned  her  back  and 
went  on  drawing  her  gold  wire,  affecting  the  while  to  ignore 
her  sister-in-law's  presence.  But  Lorilleux  raised  his  pale 
face  and  shouted  :  '  What's  that  you  say  ?  '  And  as  he  had 
heard  perfectly  well,  he  continued  :  '  More  back-bitings,  eh  ? 
She's  nice,  is  Mother  Coupeau,  to  go  and  cry  starvation  every- 
where !  Yet,  only  the  day  before  yesterday  she  dined  here. 
We  do  what  we  can.  We  haven't  got  gold  and  silver  mines. 
Only,  if  she  goes  about  gossiping  with  others,  she  had  better 
stay  with  them,  for  we  don't  hke  spies.' 

After  this  outburst  he  took  up  the  piece  of  chain  again 
and  on  his  side  turned  his  back  upon  Gervaise  while  adding,  as 
though  regretfully :  '  When  all  the  others  give  five  francs  a 
month  we'll  give  five  francs.' 

Gervaise  had  calmed  down,  quite  chilled  by  the  wooden- 
Icoking  faces  of  the  Lorilleux.  She  had  never  once  set  foot  in 
their  rooms  without  experiencing  a  certain  uneasiness.  With 
her  eyes  lowered  upon  the  interstices  of  the  wooden  grating 
through  which  fell  the  waste  gold,  she  now  explained  herself 
in  a  reasonable  manner.  Mother  Coupeau  had  three  children  ; 
if  each  of  them  gave  five  francs  a  month  the  total  would  only 
be  fifteen,  which  was  really  not  enough.  Nobody  could  live  on 
such  an  amount ;  they  must  at  least  triple  the  sum  among 
them. 

At  this  Lorilleux  cried  out  again.  Where  did  she  think 
that  he  could  steal  fifteen  francs  a  month  ?  It  was  quite 
amusing  that  people  should  think  him  rich  merely  because  he 
had  some  gold  in  his  place.  Then  he  began  to  abuse  Mother 
Coupeau  :  she  would  not  give  up  her  coffee  in  the  morning, 
and  she  must  have  her  drop  of  brandy  ;  she  required  no  end 

l2 


148  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

of  things,  just  like  a  lady  of  fortune.  Of  course  every  ons 
liked  an  easy  life  ;  but  when  a  person  had  not  troubled  to  save 
a  single  copper  she  must  do  as  others  did — go  without 
luxuries.  Besides,  Mother  Coupeau  was  not  so  old  as  to  be 
unable  to  work  ;  she  could  still  see  very  well  when  it  was  a 
question  of  getting  a  tit-bit  from  the  bottom  of  the  dish ;  in 
short,  she  was  an  artful  old  woman,  who  wanted  to  be 
pampered.  Even  if  he,  Lorilleux,  had  possessed  the  means  he 
would  have  considered  it  wrong  to  keep  any  one  in  idleness. 

Gervaise,  however,  remained  conciliatory,  and  peaceably 
argued  against  all  this  bad  reasoning.  She  tried  to  soften 
the  Lorilleux,  but  the  husband  ended  by  no  longer  answering 
her ;  while  the  wife,  who  was  now  at  the  forge,  scouring  a 
piece  of  chain  in  a  little  brass  saucepan  with  a  long  handle, 
still  affectedly  turned  her  back,  as  though  a  hundred  leagues 
away.  And  Gervaise  continued  speaking,  watching  them  as 
they  thus  obstinately  went  on  with  their  avocations  amidst 
all  the  black  dust  of  the  workshop,  their  bodies  bent,  their 
clothes  patched  and  greasy,  both  hardened,  like  old  tools, 
bereft  of  all  humanity,  in  the  pursuit  of  their  narrowing 
mechanical  task.  Then,  suddenly,  anger  again  got  the  better 
of  the  young  woman,  and  she  exclaimed :  *  Very  well,  then, 
I'd  rather  it  was  so ;  keep  your  money  1  I'll  give  Mother 
Coupeau  a  home,  do  you  hear  ?  I  picked  up  a  cat  the  other 
evening,  so  I  can  at  least  do  the  same  for  your  mother.  And 
she  shall  want  nothing,  she  shall  have  her  coffee  and  her  drop 
of  brandy,  too  !     Good  heavens  1  what  a  vile  family  1 ' 

At  these  words  Madame  Lorilleux  turned  round.  She 
brandished  the  saucepan  she  held  as  though  she  were  about 
to  throw  the  solution  of  nitric  acid  which  it  contained  in 
her  sister-in-law's  face.  And  she  stammered  ragefully :  '  Be 
off,  or  I  shall  do  you  an  injury  !  And  don't  count  on  the  five 
francs,  because  I  won't  give  a  copper  I  no,  not  a  copper  I 
Five  francs,  indeed  !  A  fine  idea.  Mamma  would  be  your 
servant,  and  you'd  fill  your  maw  with  my  five  francs  !  If 
she  goes  to  live  with  you,  just  tell  her  this,  she  may  croak 
when  she  likes,  I  won't  even  send  her  a  glass  of  water  I  Now, 
off  you  go  !  clear  out  I ' 

'What  a  monster  of  a  woman!*  said  Gervaise,  as  she 
slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

On  the  morrow  she  took  Mother  Coupeau  to  live  with  her. 
She  put  her  bedstead  in  the  big  closet  where  Nana  slept, 
which  was  lighted  by  a  little  round  window  close  to  the 


THE  LAUNDRY-SHOP  149 

ceiling.  The  moving  did  not  take  long,  for  the  sole  furniture 
that  Mother  Coupeau  possessed  consisted  of  this  bedstead,  an 
old  walnut  wardrobe,  which  was  placed  in  the  dirty  clothes 
room,  a  table  and  two  chairs ;  they  sold  the  table  and  had 
the  two  chairs  reseated.  And  the  old  woman,  on  the  very 
evening  of  her  arrival,  swept  up  the  crumbs  and  washed  the 
dinner  things,  in  fact,  made  herself  useful,  feeling  delighted  at 
having  thus  got  out  of  her  difficulty.  The  Lorilleux  almost 
burst  with  rage,  especially  as  Madame  Lerat  had  just  become 
reconciled  with  the  Coupeaus.  One  fine  day  the  two  sisters, 
the  artificial  flower-maker  and  the  chain-maker,  exchanged 
blows  on  account  of  Gervaise.  The  first  had  ventured  to 
praise  the  young  woman's  conduct  with  respect  to  their 
mother ;  and  then,  through  a  desire  to  tease,  seeing  that  her 
sister  was  exasperated,  she  had  gone  on  to  say  that  the 
laundress  certainly  had  magnificent  eyes,  so  brilhant  that  one 
might  have  lighted  pieces  of  paper  at  them  ;  and  in  the  result 
they  ended  by  slapping  each  other's  faces,  and  swearing  that 
they  would  never  meet  again.  Thenceforward,  Madame 
Lerat  spent  her  evenings  in  the  shop,  where  she  was  in* 
wardly  amused  by  Clemence's  coarse  behaviour. 

Three  years  passed  by.  There  were  frequent  quarrels 
and  reconciliations.  Gervaise  did  not  care  a  straw  for  the 
Lorilleux,  the  Boches  and  all  the  others  who  were  not  of  her 
way  of  thinking.  If  they  did  not  like  it,  why,  they  could  do 
the  other  thing.  She  earned  what  she  wished,  which  was  her 
principal  concern.  The  people  of  the  neighbourhood  had 
ended  by  greatly  esteeming  her,  for  when  all  was  said  and 
done,  one  found  few  such  good  customers  as  she  was,  paying 
punctually  and  never  cavilling  or  higgling.  She  bought  her 
bread  of  Madame  Coudeloup,  in  the  Eue  des  Poissonniers ; 
her  meat  of  fat  Charles,  the  butcher  in  the  Kue  Polonceau  ; 
her  grocery  at  Lehongre's,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or 
almost  opposite  her  own  shop.  Fran9ois,  the  wine  merchant 
at  the  corner  of  the  street,  supplied  her  with  wine  by  the 
basket  of  fifty  quart  bottles ;  and  her  neighbour  Vigouroux 
sold  her  coke  at  the  same  price  as  the  gas  company  charged. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  her  tradespeople  served  her  well, 
knowing  that  there  was  everything  to  gain  by  treating  her  in  a 
proper  spirit.  And  thus,  whenever  she  went  about  the  neigh- 
bourhood, her  head  bare,  and  her  feet  in  slippers,  folks  bade 
her  good-day  on  all  sides.  She  was  quite  at  home  there,  the 
adjacent  streets  were  like  the  natural  dependencies  of  her 


I50  THE  dram-shop 

abode,  which  opened  on  a  level  with  the  pavement.  She 
would  often  linger  over  an  errand,  happy  at  finding  herself 
out  of  doors  in  the  midst  of  her  acquaintances.  On  the  days 
when  she  lacked  time  to  cook,  she  would  go  to  buy  something 
all  ready,  and  linger  gossiping  with  the  restaurant  keeper 
who  tenanted  the  shop  on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  a  huge 
place  with  big  dusty  windows,  through  the  dirt  of  which  one 
could  espy  the  dull  hght  of  the  court-yard  in  the  rear.  Or 
else,  laden  with  plates  and  basins,  she  would  stop  and  chat 
opposite  some  ground-floor  window,  which  allowed  a  glimpse 
of  a  cobbler's  room,  with  the  bed  unmade,  the  floor  encum- 
bered with  rags,  among  which  stood  a  couple  of  broken  cradles 
and  a  wax-pan  full  of  black  water.  But  the  neighbour  whom 
she  still  respected  the  most  was  the  clock-maker  opposite,  the 
clean-looking  gentleman  in  the  frock  coat,  who  was  for  ever 
probing  watches  with  dainty httle  tools;  and  she  would  often 
cross  the  street  to  bid  him  good-day,  laughing  with  pleasure 
as,  in  the  rear  of  the  tiny  cupboard-like  shop,  she  beheld  the 
gaiety  of  the  little  cuckoo  clocks,  whose  pendulums  were 
ever  hastening,  swinging,  counting  the  hours  all  out  of  time. 


VI 

THE   SHADOWS  FALL 

One  afternoon  in  the  autumn,  Gervaise,  who  had  been  tak- 
ing some  washing  home  to  a  customer  in  the  Rue  des 
Portes-Blanches,  found  herself  at  the  bottom  of  the  Rue  des 
Poissonniers  just  as  the  dayhght  was  declining.  It  had 
rained  in  the  morning,  the  weather  was  very  mild,  and  the 
greasy  pavement  was  odoriferous.  The  laundress,  as  she 
slowly  ascended  the  street,  burdened  with  her  big  basket, 
felt  rather  out  of  breath,  and  inclined  to  take  her  ease. 
She  would  have  liked  to  have  had  something  nice  to  eat. 
Then,  on  raising  her  eyes,  she  saw  at  a  corner  the  name 
of  the  Rue  Marcadet,  and  was  suddenly  struck  with  the  idea 
of  going  to  see  Goujet  at  his  forge.  He  had  no  end  of 
times  told  her  to  take  a  few  extra  steps  some  day  should 
she  be  curious  to  see  how  iron  was  wrought.  Besides,  in 
presence  of  the  other  workmen  she  might  ask  for  Etienne, 
and  make  believe  that  she  had  merely  called  for  the  young- 
ster. 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  151 

The  bolt  and  rivet  factory  was  somewhere  near  at 
that  end  of  the  Rue  Marcadet,  though  she  did  not  exactly 
know  where ;  more  especially  as  there  were  often  no  num- 
bers to  the  buildings,  which  were  parted  by  vacant  plots  oi 
land.  It  was  a  street  in  which  she  would  not  have  lived 
for  all  the  gold  in  the  world — a  wide,  dirty  street,  black 
from  the  coal-dust  of  neighbouring  factories,  and  with  uneven 
paving-stones  and  ruts  full  of  stagnant  water.  On  either 
side  were  sheds,  lofty  glazed  workshops,  grey  unfinished 
buildings,  showing  bare  bricks  and  woodwork,  a  straggling 
collection  of  tottering  masonry,  intersected  by  gaps  which 
allowed  a  view  of  the  country  beyond,  and  flanked  by  sus- 
picious lodging-houses  and  low  cook-shops.  Gervaise  could 
only  remember  that  the  bolt  factory  was  near  an  old  iron 
and  rag  warehouse,  a  kind  of  cesspool  opening  on  a  level  with 
the  ground,  where,  according  to  Goujet,  slumbered  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  francs'  worth  of  goods.  And  she  tried  to 
find  her  way  amidst  the  din  of  the  encompassing  factories. 
Slender  pipes  on  roofs  violently  sent  forth  jets  of  steam ;  at 
regular  intervals,  a  grating  sound,  similar  to  that  produced 
by  the  sudden  rending  of  calico  came  from  a  sawmill ;  while 
button  factories  shook  the  ground  with  the  rumbling  and 
ticking  of  their  machinery.  As  she  was  looking  towards 
Montmartre  in  a  state  of  indecision,  and  uncertain  whether 
to  go  any  further,  a  gust  of  wind  blew  some  sooty  smoke  down 
from  a  tall  chimney,  and  infected  the  street.  She  closed  her 
eyes,  feeling  almost  sufibcated,  and  just  then  heard  a  noise  of 
hammers  beating  in  unison ;  without  knowing  it,  she  was 
exactly  opposite  the  place  she  was  in  search  of,  and  this  she 
reahsed  on  perceiving  a  hole  full  of  rags  close  by. 

Yet  she  still  hesitated,  not  knowing  where  to  enter. 
Some  broken  palings  afforded  a  passage  which  seemed  to  lead 
through  heaps  of  rubbish  left  from  some  buildings  recently 
pulled  down  ;  and  as  a  large  puddle  of  muddy  water  barred 
the  way,  two  planks  had  been  thrown  across  it.  Gervaisa 
ended  by  venturing  on  them,  turned  to  the  left,  and  found 
herself  in  the  depths  of  a  strange  forest  made  up  of  old 
carts,  standing  on  end  with  their  shafts  in  the  air,  and  of 
ruined  hovels,  whose  wood-work  only  was  erect.  Right  at 
the  end,  rending  the  evening  darkness  which  a  remnant  of 
daylight  smirched,  a  red  fire  was  shining.  The  noise  of  the 
hammers  had  ceased,  and  she  was  advancing  carefully,  mov- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  light,  when  a  workman,  his  face 


152  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

blackened  by  coal-dust,   and  bushy  with  a  goatish  beard, 
passed  near  her,  glancing  askance  with  his  pale  eyes. 

*  Sir,'  asked  she,  *  it's  here,  is  it  not,  that  a  boy  named 
Etienne  works  ?     He's  my  son.' 

*  Etienne,  Etienne,'  repeated  the  workman,  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  as  he  twisted  himself  about.  *  Etienne ;  no,  I  don't 
know  him.* 

By  his  open  mouth  he  diffused  that  odour  of  alcohol 
which  comes  from  old  brandy  casks  when  their  bungs  have 
been  removed ;  and  as  he  began  to  show  signs  of  frolic- 
someness  at  thus  meeting  a  woman  in  that  dark  nook,  Ger- 
vaise  drew  back,  murmuring,  *  But  yet  it's  here  that  Mon- 
sieur Goujet  works,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

*  Ah  !  Goujet,  yes  I '  said  the  workman  ;  *  I  know  Goujet  I 
If  you've  come  for  Goujet,  go  right  to  the  end.'  And,  turning 
round,  he  called  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  which  sounded  like 
cracked  brass,  *  I  say,  Golden-Mug,  here's  a  lady  wants  you  !  ' 

But  a  clanging  of  iron  drowned  the  cry.  Gervaise  went 
to  the  end,  reached  a  doorway,  and  stretching  out  her  neck, 
peeped  into  a  large  place  where  at  first  she  could  distinguish 
nothing.  The  forge,  as  though  dead,  glimmered  in  a  corner 
as  faintly  as  a  star,  thus  increasing  the  depth  of  the  gloom. 
Large  shadows  hung  about,  and  now  and  again  black 
massive  forms,  men,  whose  stature  was  increased  by  the  dark- 
\iess,  whose  huge  Hmbs  were  divined  rather  than  seen, 
f)assed  before  the  fire,  hiding  that  last  gleam  of  light.  Ger- 
vaise, not  daring  to  venture  in,  called  from  the  doorway,  in  a 
faint  voice, '  Monsieur  Goujet !     Monsieur  Goujet  1 ' 

Suddenly,  however,  everything  was  lighted  up.  At  a  puff 
of  the  bellows,  a  jet  of  white  flame  had  ascended.  The  shed 
was  seen,  enclosed  by  boarding,  with  openings  roughly 
plastered  round,  and  corners  strengthened  with  bits  of  brick- 
work. The  dust  that  blew  from  the  coal  fire  had  coated  the 
place  with  greyish  soot.  Cobwebs  hung  from  the  beams, 
looking  like  rags  put  up  there  to  dry,  and  heavy  with  the 
dirt  of  years.  All  around  on  shelves  or  nails,  or  thrown  in 
dark  corners,  was  a  disorderly  accumulation  of  old  iron, 
damaged  utensils,  and  huge  implements,  hard  of  outline, 
tarnished,  and  sometimes  broken.  And  the  white  flame  still 
ascended  with  dazzling  brilliancy,  illumining,  as  though 
with  a  flash  of  sunshine,  the  trodden  ground,  above  which 
the  polished  steel  of  four  anvils,  fixed  in  their  blocks,  showed 
like  silver  spangled  with  gold, 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  153 

Then  in  front  of  the  forge ^Gervaise  recognised  Goujet  by 
his  beautiful  yellow  beard.  Etienne  was  blowing  the  bel- 
lows. Two  other  workmen  were  there,  but  she  only  beheld 
Goujet,  and,  walking  forward,  stood  before  him. 

*  Why,  it's  Madame  Gervaise  1  '  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
bright  look  on  his  face.     *  What  a  pleasant  surprise  ! ' 

But  as  his  comrades  appeared  to  be  rather  amused,  he 
pushed  Etienne  towards  his  mother  and  resumed,  *  You've 
come  to  see  the  youngster.  He  behaves  himself  well,  and 
he's  beginning  to  get  some  strength  in  his  wrists.' 

*  Ah,  well  1 '  said  she,  '  it's  not  easy  to  get  here.  I  thought 
myself  at  the  end  of  the  world.' 

And  she  told  him  what  a  journey  she  had  had.  Then  she 
inquired  why  Etienne'sname  was  not  known  in  the  workshop. 
Goujet  laughed,  and  explained  that  every  one  called  the 
boy  the  little  Zouzou,  because  his  hair  was  clipped  as 
short  as  a  zouave  s.  Whilst  they  were  talking  together, 
Etienne  had  ceased  working  the  bellows,  so  that  the  flame 
of  the  forge  gradually  sank  down  till  only  a  rosy  glimmer 
remained,  dying  away  in  the  middle  of  the  shed,  which  all 
around  again  grew  dark.  The  blacksmith,  apparently  some- 
what moved,  stood  gazing  at  the  young  woman,  who  smiled 
and  looked  very  fresh  in  that  faint,  pink  light.  Then,  as  the 
shadows  enveloped  them  and  neither  spoke,  he  seemed  to 
recollect  something  and  broke  the  silence. 

*  Excuse  me,  Madame  Gervaise,  but  I've  a  job  to  finish. 
You'll  stay  there,  won't  you  ?     You're  not  in  anybody's)  way.* 

She  remained.  Etienne  was  again  hanging  on  to  the 
bellows,  and  the  forge  was  soon  ablaze  again,  throwing  out 
sparks  like  a  fusee  ;  for  the  youngster  in  order  to  show  his 
mother  how  strong  he  now  was,  forced  from  the  bellows  a 
blast  like  that  of  a  hurricane.  As  Goujet  stood  there  watch- 
ing a  bar  of  iron  heating,  and  waiting,  tongs  in  hand,  the 
blaze  beat  upon  him  violently,  leaving  not  a  shadow.  His 
shirt,  rolled  up  at  the  sleeves,  and  open  at  the  neck,  dis- 
closed his  bare  arms  and  bare  chest,  their  skin  as  pinky  white 
as  a  girl's,  with  httle  hght  curly  hairs  ;  and,  with  his  head 
set  rather  low  on  his  huge  shoulders  all  bumpy  with  muscles, 
an  attentive  expression  on  his  face,  and  his  pale  eyes  fixed, 
without  blinking,  on  the  flame,  he  looked  like  a  giant  at  rest, 
calm  in  the  knowledge  of  his  might;.  When  the  bar  was  at 
white  heat,  he  seized  it  with  the  tongs  and  cut  it  with  a 
hammer  on  an  anvil,  into  strips  of  equal  length,  as  gently 


154  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

as  though  he  had  heen  breaking  bits  of  glass.  Then  he  put 
the  pieces  back  into  the  fire,  whence  he  again  took  them 
one  by  one  to  work  them  into  shape.  He  was  forging  hexa- 
gonal rivets.  He  placed  each  piece  in  a  tool-hole  of  the 
anvil,  beat  down  the  iron  that  was  to  form  the  head,  flattened 
the  six  sides,  and  cast  the  finished  rivet,  still  red  hot,  upon 
the  black  soil,  where  its  bright  light  gradually  died  away ; 
and  this  with  a  continuous  hammering,  wielding  in  his  right 
hand  a  hammer  which  weighed  five  pounds,  completing  a 
detail  at  every  blow,  turning  and  working  the  iron  with 
such  dexterity  that  he  was  able  to  talk  with  and  look  at 
those  about  him.  The  anvil  gave  out  a  silvery  ring  ;  while 
he,  without  a  drop  of  perspiration  on  his  skin,  quite  at  his 
ease,  struck  and  struck  in  a  good-natured  sort  of  way,  to  all 
appearance  exerting  himself  no  more  than  on  the  evenings 
when  he  cut  out  pictures  at  home. 

*  Oh  !  these  are  little  rivets  of  twenty  millimetres,'  said 
he  in  reply  to  Gervaise's  questions.  *  A  fellow  can  do  his 
three  hundred  a  day.  But  it  requires  practice,  for  one's 
arm  soon  grows  rusty.' 

And  when  she  asked  him  if  his  wrist  did  not  feel  stiff  at 
the  end  of  the  day,  he  laughed  aloud.  Did  she  think  him  a 
young  lady  ?  His  wrist  had  seen  some  hard  work  during  the 
past  fifteen  years ;  it  had  turned  into  iron  itself  by  dint  of  long 
and  close  contact  with  the  iron  implements.  She  was  right 
though  ;  a  gentleman  who  had  never  forged  a  rivet  or  a  bolt 
would  have  found  himself  precious  stiff  in  the  course  of  a 
couple  of  hours  had  he  tried  to  show  off  with  a  five-pound 
hammer.  It  did  not  seem  much,  but  a  few  years  of  it  often 
did  for  some  very  strong  fellows  indeed. 

However,  while  Goujet  and  Gervaise  talked,  the  other  work- 
men were  likewise  hammering  away,  all  together.  Their  tall 
shadows  danced  about  in  the  light,  redflashesof  iron  taken  from 
the  fire  traversed  the  gloomy  recesses,  showers  of  sparks 
splashed  from  beneath  the  hammers,  or  shone  sun-like  on  a 
level  with  the  anvils.  And  Gervaise,  carried  away  by  the  noisy 
turmoil  of  the  forge,  did  not  think  of  leaving.  She  was  making 
a  long  round  in  order  to  get  nearer  to  Etienne  without  having 
her  hands  burnt,  when  she  saw  the  dirty,  bearded  workman, 
to  whom  she  had  spoken  in  the  yard,  come  in. 

*  So  you've  found  him,  madame  ?  *  asked  he  in  his  frolic- 
some, drunken  way.  *  You  know,  Golden-Mug,  it's  I  who 
told  madame  where  to  find  you.' 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  155 

The  new-comer  was  called  Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink- 
without-Thirst,  a  brick  of  bricks,  and  a  dab  hand  at  bolt 
forging,  who  wetted  his  iron  every  day  with  a  pint  and  a  half 
of  bowel-twister.  He  had  gone  out  to  have  a  drop,  because  he 
had  felt  that  he  wanted  greasing  if  he  was  to  work  till  six 
o,' clock.  When  he  learnt  that  Zouzou's  real  name  was 
Etienne,  he  thought  it  very  funny  ;  and  he  showed  his  black 
teeth  as  he  laughed.  Then  he  recognised  Gervaise.  Why, 
only  the  day  before  he  had  drunk  a  glass  of  wine  with  Coupeau. 
You  could  speak  to  Coupeau  about  Salted-Chops,  otherwise 
Drink- without-Thirst  ;  he  would  at  once  say:  'He's  a  jolly 
dog  !  '  Ah  !  that  joker  Coupeau  I  he  was  one  of  the  right  sort ; 
he  stood  treat  oftener  than  his  turn. 

'  I'm  awfully  glad  to  know  you're  his  missis,'  he  added. 
•  He  deserves  to  have  a  pretty  wife.  Eh,  Golden-Mug,  madame 
is  a  fine  woman,  isn't  she  ?  * 

Salted- Chops  was  becoming  quite  gallant,  sidling  to- 
wards the  laundress,  who  took  up  her  basket  and  held  it  in 
front  of  her,  so  as  to  keep  him  at  a  distance.  Goujet,  annoyed, 
and  realising  that  his  comrade  was  'getting  at  him,'  because 
of  his  friendship  for  Gervaise,  called  out  abruptly  :  *  I  say, 
you  lazybones,  what  about  the  forty  millimetre  bolts  ?  Do 
you  think  you're  equal  to  'em,  now  that  you've  got  your  gullet 
full,  you  confounded  guzzler  ?  ' 

The  blacksmith  was  alluding  to  an  order  for  big  bolts  which 
necessitated  two  beaters  at  the  anvil. 

'  I'm  ready  to  start  at  this  moment,  you  big  baby  ! '  replied 
Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst.  'You  suck 
your  thumb  and  think  yourself  a  man.  You  may  be  big,  but 
I've  downed  many  another.' 

'  Yes,  that's  it,  at  once.    Look  sharp,  and  off  we  go  I  * 

*  Right  you  are,  my  boy  I  ' 

They  defied  each  other,  stimulated  by  the  presence  of  Ger- 
vaise. Goujet  placed  the  pieces  of  iron  that  had  been  cut 
beforehand  in  the  fire  ;  then  he  fixed  a  tool-hole  of  large  bore 
on  an  anvil.  His  comrade  had  taken  from  against  the  wall  a 
couple  of  sledge  hammers  weighing  twenty  pounds  apiece,  the 
two  big  sisters  of  the  factory,  whom  the  workmen  called  Fifine 
and  Dedele.  And  he  continued  to  brag,  talking  of  a  half-gross 
of  rivets  which  he  had  forged  for  the  Dunkirk  lighthouse, 
regular  jewels,  things  fit  to  put  in  a  museum  in  fact,  so 
daintily  were  they  finished  off.  No,  indeed,  he  did  not  fear 
competition  ;  before  meeting  another  chap  like  him,  you  might 


156  THE  DRAM-SHOl- 

eearch  every  factory  in  the  capital.    They  were  going  to  have 
a  laugh  ;  they  would  see  what  they  would  see. 

*  Madame  shall  be  judge,*  he  continued,  turning  towards 
the  young  woman. 

*  Enough  chattering  I '  cried  Goujet.  *  Now  then,  Zouzou, 
show  your  muscle !     It  doesn't  heat  a  bit,  my  lad.' 

But  Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst,  in- 
quired :  *  So  we  strike  together  ?  * 

*  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  each  his  own  bolt,  my  friend  1  * 

This  statement  operated  as  a  damper ;  Goujet's  comrade, 
on  hearing  it,  remained  speechless,  in  spite  of  all  his  boasting. 
Bolts  of  forty  millimetres  fashioned  by  one  man  had  never 
been  seen ;  and  moreover  round  heads  were  to  be  given  to 
those  which  had  to  be  made,  a  work  of  great  difficulty,  some- 
thing in  the  way  of  a  masterpiece.  The  three  other  men  who 
were  present  left  their  work  to  look  on  ;  one  tall,  spare  fellow 
wagering  a  quart  of  wine  that  Goujet  would  be  beaten.  How- 
ever, each  of  the  two  smiths  took  a  sledge-hammer  with  eyes 
closed,  because  Fifine  weighed  half  a  pound  more  than  Ded^le. 
Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst,  had  the  luck  to 
put  his  hand  on  D^dele,  so  that  Fifine  fell  to  Golden-Mug. 
And,  while  waiting  for  the  iron  to  reach  white  heat,  the  former, 
recovering  all  his  bounce,  swaggered  about  in  front  of  the 
anvil  and  cast  tender  glances  at  the  laundress.  He  struck 
attitudes,  stamped  impatiently,  like  a  gentleman  about  to 
fight  a  duel,  and  already  made  the  gesture  of  swinging  Dedele 
with  all  his  strength.  Ah !  Jove's  thunder  I  he  was  in  his 
element ;  he  could  have  pounded  the  Vendome  column  into 
pulp  ! 

'  Now  then,  off  you  go  ! '  said  Goujet,  placing  one  of  the 
pieces  of  iron,  as  thick  as  a  girl's  wrist,  in  the  tool-hole. 

Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst,  leant  back, 
and  swung  Dedele  round  with  both  hands.  Short,  half  dried- 
up,  with  a  goatish  beard  and  wolf-like  eyes  glaring  beneath  his 
unkempt  hair,  he  seemed  to  snap  at  each  swing  of  the  hammer, 
springing  from  the  ground  as  though  carried  away  by  the 
force  he  put  into  the  blow.  He  was  a  fierce  one,  who  fought 
with  the  iron,  annoyed  at  finding  it  so  hard,  and  he  even  gave 
a  grunt  whenever  he  thought  he  had  planted  a  fine  stroke.  Per- 
haps brandy  did  weaken  other  people's  arms,  but  he  needed  it  in 
his  veins,  instead  of  blood.  The  drop  he  had  taken  a  little  while 
ago  had  made  his  carcass  as  hot  as  a  boiler  ;  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  the  power  of  a  steam-engine  within  him.    And  the  iron 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  157 

Beemed  to  be  afraid  of  him  this  time ;  he  flattened  it  more 
easily  than  if  it  had  been  a  quid  of  tobacco.  And  it  was  a  sight 
to  see  how  Dedele  waltzed  !  She  cut  terrific  capers,  with  her 
tootsies  in  the  air,  just  like  a  dollymop  of  the  Elys^e  Mont- 
martre  dancing-hall ;  for  it  would  never  do  to  dawdle,  iron  is 
so  deceitful,  it  cools  at  once  just  to  spite  the  hammer.  ,  With 
thirty  blows.  Salted- Chops,  otherwise  Drink- without- Thirst, 
fashioned  the  head  of  his  bolt.  But  he  panted  ;  his  eyes  were 
half  out  of  his  head,  and  he  got  into  a  great  rage  as  he  felt  his 
arms  yielding.  And  carried  away  by  excitement,  jumping 
about  and  yelling,  he  gave  two  more  blows,  just  out  of  revenge 
for  all  the  trouble  he  had  had.  In  the  result,  when  he  took 
the  bolt  from  the  hole,  it  was  deformed,  with  its  head  askew 
like  a  hunchback's. 

*  Come  now !  isn*t  that  licked  into  shape  ?  said  he,  all  the 
same,  with  his  impudent  bounce,  as  he  presented  his  work  to 
Gervaise. 

'I'm  no  judge,  sir,'  replied  the  laundress,  with  due  reserve. 
But  she  saw  plainly  enough  the  marks  of  Dedele's  last  two 
kicks  on  the  bolt,  and  she  was  very  pleased,  biting  her  lips  so 
as  to  keep  from  laughing,  for  now  Goujet  had  every  chance  of 
winning. 

It  was  Golden-Mug's  turn.  Before  commencing,  he  gave 
the  laundress  a  look  full  of  confident  tenderness.  Then 
he  did  not  hurry,  but  measured  his  distance  and  swung  the 
hammer  from  on  high  with  sweeping  regular  curves.  His  was 
the  classic  style,  accurate,  evenly  balanced,  and  supple.  In  his 
grasp  Fifine  did  not  cut  capers,  throwing  up  her  legs  as  in  a 
dancing-saloon,  but  rose  and  fell  in  cadenced  fashion  like  a  lady 
of  quality  solemnly  leading  some  old  courtly  minuet.  Her 
heels  gravely  beat  the  measure,  sinking  into  the  red-hot  iron 
of  the  bolt's  head  with  studied  science,  first  flattening  the 
metal  in  the  centre,  then  modelling  it  with  a  series  of  blows 
of  rhythmical  precision.  It  was  certainly  not  brandy  that 
flowed  in  Golden-Mug's  veins  ;  it  was  blood,  pure  blood,  which 
pulsated  powerfully  even  in  his  hammer,  and  regulated  his 
toil.  He  looked  magnificent  at  work,  that  strapping  fellow ! 
The  glare  of  the  forge  shone  full  upon  him.  His  short  hair 
curling  over  his  low  forehead,  and  his  handsome  yellow  beard 
with  its  wavy  fall,  Ut  up  and  illumined  his  whole  face  with 
their  golden  threads,  giving  it  indeed  the  appearance  of  a  face 
of  gold.  With  that  he  had  a  neck  like  a  pillar,  and  as  white 
as  a  child's ;  a  vast  chest,  broad  enough  to  bear  a  woman 


158  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

across  it ;  shoulders  and  arms  which  seemed  copied  from  those 
of  a  giant  in  some  museum.  At  each  effort  he  made,  one 
could  see  his  muscles  swell,  mountains  of  flesh  rolling  and 
hardening  beneath  his  skin ;  his  shoulders,  his  chest,  his  neck, 
all  dilated ;  he  cast  a  halo  around  him  and  became  beautiful, 
all-powerful,  like  a  god.  With  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  iron  he 
had  already  brought  Fifine  down  a  score  of  times,  taking 
breath  regularly  at  each  stroke,  while  only  two  big  drops  of 
perspiration  trickled  down  his  temples.  He  counted  as  he 
proceeded :  twenty- one,  twenty-two,  twenty-three.  Fifine 
quietly  went  on  with  her  courtesies  like  some  grand  lady. 

*  What  affectation  1  '  jeeringly  murmured  Salted- Chops, 
otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst. 

But  Gervaise,  standing  opposite  Golden-Mug,  looked  on 
with  a  soft  smile.  Ah,  what  fools  men  are  !  Were  they  not 
each  hammering  their  bolts  by  way  of  courting  her  ?  Oh,  she 
could  divine  it  all  ;  they  were  fighting  for  her  with  their 
hammers  ;  they  were  like  two  big  red  roosters  showing  ofi 
their  lustiness  before  a  little  white  hen.  What  devices,  eh? 
All  the  same,  the  heart  sometimes  has  fimny  ways  of  declar- 
ing itself.  Yef^.  'twas  for  her  that  thunder  of  Dedele  and 
Fifine  on  the  ai\\ii ;  'twas  for  her  all  that  crushing  of  iron  ; 
'twas  for  her  that  turmoil  of  the  forge,  flaring  like  a  con- 
flagration, filled  with  showers  of  fiery  sparks.  They  were  there 
forging  love  for  her,  each  striving  for  her,  seeking  to  excel  his 
comrade.  And,  in  her  heart,  this  pleased  her  ;  for,  after  all, 
women  dearly  love  compliments.  Golden-Mug's  blows  especi- 
ally found  an  echo  in  her  breast ;  they  resounded  there  as  on 
the  anvil,  with  a  clear  music  which  accompanied  the  strong 
pulsations  of  her  blood.  It  seems  absurd,  but  she  felt  that  they 
drove  something  into  her,  something  solid,  a  little  of  the  iron  of 
the  bolt.  At  twilight,  before  entering  the  factory,  as  she 
passed  along  the  damp  pavements,  she  had  experienced  a 
vague  desire  to  eat  something  nice ;  and  now  she  felt 
satisfied,  as  though  the  blows  dealt  by  Golden-Mug  had 
nourished  her.  Oh,  she  had  no  doubt  of  his  victory.  It  was 
to  him  that  she  would  belong.  Salted-Chops,  otherwise 
Drink-without-Thirst,  looked  too  ugly,  as  he  jumped  about 
like  an  escaped  monkey,  in  his  dirty  blouse  and  over-alls. 
And  she  waited,  growing  very  red,  yet  feeling  happy  in  the 
stifling  heat,  and  taking  a  delight  in  being  shaken  from  head 
to  foot  by  Fifine's  final  strokes. 

Goujet  was  still  counting.     *  And  twenty- eight  1 '  cried  he, 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  159 

at  length,  as  he  laid  the  hammer  on  the  ground.  '  It'a 
finished  ;  you  can  look.' 

The  head  of  the  bolt  appeared  bright,  spotless,  without 
a  flaw,  hke  genuine  goldsmith's  work,  and  as  round  as  a 
marble  cast  in  a  mould.  The  other  men  looked  at  it  and 
nodded ;  there  was  no  denying  that  it  was  lovely  enough 
to  be  worshipped.  Salted- Chops,  otherwise  Drink- without- 
Thirst,  certainly  tried  to  chaff ;  but  it  was  of  no  use,  and  he 
ended  by  returning  to  his  anvil,  with  his  nose  out  of  joint. 
Gervaise  had  drawn  very  close  to  Goujet,  as  though  to  get  a 
better  view ;  and  as  Etienne  had  ceased  to  ply  the  bellows, 
the  forge  was  once  more  filling  with  shadows,  even  as  a  brilhant 
red  sunset  suddenly  gives  way  to  dark  night.  The  black- 
smith and  the  laundress  experienced  a  sweet  pleasure  as  they 
beheld  this  gloom  surrounding  them,  in  that  shed  black  with 
soot  and  filings,  and  odoriferous  of  old  iron.  They  could  not 
have  thought  themselves  more  alone  had  they  met  in  the 
depths  of  some  copse  in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes.  He  took  her 
hand  as  though  he  had  conquered  her. 

And  afterwards,  when  they  got  outside,  they  scarcely 
exchanged  a  word.  All  that  Goujet  could  find  to  say  was 
that  she  might  have  taken  Etienne  away  with  her,  had  it  not 
been  that  another  half-hour's  work  remained  to  be  done. 
She  was  at  length  going  off,  when  he  called  her  back,  trying 
to  keep  her  with  him  a  few  minutes  longer.  *  Come  this  way, 
you  haven't  seen  everything,'  he  exclaimed.  *  Keally,  now, 
it's  very  curious.* 

Then  he  led  her  to  the  right,  to  another  shed,  where  his 
employer  had  set  up  a  quantity  of  machinery.  She  hesitated 
on  the  threshold,  seized  with  instinctive  fear.  The  huge  place 
shook  with  the  vibration  of  the  machines,  and  big  shadows, 
splotched  with  red  gleams,  hung  all  around.  But  Goujet 
smilingly  reassured  her,  saying  there  was  nothing  to  be  afraid 
of.  She  must  merely  be  careful  to  keep  her  skirts  away  from 
the  gear.  He  walked  first,  and  she  followed  him  amidst  the 
deafening  uproar,  the  hissing,  whistling,  and  rumbhng,  and 
the  vapour  peopled  with  vague  forms — men  black  and  busy, 
and  machines  ever  jerking  their  arms — which  she  was  unable 
to  distinguish  one  from  another.  The  passages  were  very 
narrow,  and  it  was  necessary  to  step  over  obstacles,  to  be 
careful  of  holes,  and  to  stand  aside  to  avoid  passing  trolleys. 
One  could  not  hear  oneself  speak,  and  for  a  time  Gervaise 
saw  nothing  distinctly ;  all  danced  before  her.     Then  as  it 


i6o  THE  r>RAM-SHOP 

seemed  to  her  that  great  wings  were  flapping  ahove  her,  she 
raised  her  eyes,  and  paused  to  look  at  the  long  straps  hanging 
from  the  ceiling,  and  forming,  as  it  were,  a  gigantic  cobweb, 
each  thread  of  which  seemed  to  be  for  ever  unwinding 
without  coming  to  an  end.  The  steam-engine,  which  fur- 
nished the  motive  power,  was  hidden  away  in  a  corner  behind 
a  little  brick  wall;  and  the  straps  seemed  to  spin  along 
without  help,  bringing  motion  from  the  depths  of  the  gloom, 
with  a  continuous  regular  gliding,  as  gentle  as  the  flight  of 
a  night  bird.  But  Gervaise  nearly  fell,  through  stumbling 
against  one  of  the  pipes  of  the  ventilator,  which  ramified  over 
the  trodden  ground,  distributing  a  sharp  breath  of  wind  to 
the  little  forges  near  the  machines.  And  Goujet  commenced 
by  showing  her  how  the  air  was  turned  on  to  a  fire.  Large 
fan-shaped  flames  spread  out  on  the  four  sides,  forming  a 
dazzhng  jagged  collar  of  fire,  shghtly  tinted  with  a  touch  of 
crimson ;  and  the  light  was  so  brilUant  that  the  workmen's 
little  lamps  looked  like  dull  spots  on  a  sun. 

Then  he  raised  his  voice  to  give  her  some  explanations, 
as  he  passed  on  to  the  machinery — first  the  mechanical 
shears  which  devoured  bars  of  iron,  gobbling  a  fresh  piece  at 
each  bite,  and  afterwards  spitting  it  out  behind;  next  the 
tall  bolt  and  rivet  machines,  which  forged  heads  with  a  single 
pressure  of  their  powerful  screws ;  then  the  scrapers,  with 
their  cast-iron  fly-wheels  which  looked  Uke  metal  balls  as 
they  furiously  beat  the  air  each  time  that  they  removed 
the  rough  edges  of  some  article ;  and  then  the  tappers, 
which  were  worked  by  women,  and  wormed  the  bolts  and 
their  nuts,  with  a  tick-tack  of  steel  wheels  that  shone  with 
the  grease  of  machine  oil.  Thus  Gervaise  could  follow  the 
whole  fabrication,  from  the  bar  iron  resting  against  the  walls 
to  the  manufactured  bolts  and  rivets,  casefuls  of  which  filled 
the  corners.  Then  she  understood,  and  smiled,  as  she  nodded 
her  head  to  Goujet ;  but,  all  the  same,  there  was  an  oppressive 
feeling  in  her  throat,  she  felt  uneasy  at  finding  herself  so  little 
and  so  soft  amongst  those  formidable  workers  in  metal,  and  now 
and  again  she  turned  round,  so  startled  by  the  heavy  thud  of 
one  of  the  scrapers  that  her  blood  almost  froze  in  her  veins. 
She  was  now  getting  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  and  could  detect 
recesses  in  which  men  were  standing  motionless  and  regulat- 
ing the  breathless  dance  of  the  fly-wheels,  whenever  a  forge 
suddenly  threw  up  the  blaze  of  its  collar  of  flame.  However, 
in  spite  of  herself,  her  eyes  ever  wandered  back  to  the  roo^ 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  i6i 

to  the  life,  the  very  blood  of  the  machines,  that  supple  flight 
of  the  straps,  whose  mighty,  noiseless  power  she  watched 
passing  through  the  vague  darkness  that  hung  about  beams 
and  rafters. 

Goujet,  meanwhile,  had  stopped  in  front  of  one  of  the 
rivet-making  machines.  He  stood  there,  wrapped  in  thought, 
with  bowed  head  and  fixed  gaze.  The  machine  forged  rivets 
of  forty  millimetres  with  the  quiet  ease  of  a  giant.  And  in 
truth  nothing  was  simpler.  The  fireman  took  the  piece  of 
iron  from  the  fire,  the  striker  placed  it  in  a  tool-hole,  which 
was  moistened  by  a  constant  trickling  of  water  to  guard 
against  any  softening  of  the  steel,  and  the  thing  was  done, 
the  screw  came  down,  and  the  rivet  jumped  to  the  ground, 
with  its  head  as  round  as  though  it  had  been  cast  in  a  mould. 
In  twelve  hours  that  confounded  machine  manufactured 
hundredweights  of  rivets.  Goujet  was  not  spiteful :  yet,  at 
certain  moments,  he  would  willingly  have  taken  Fifine  and 
have  knocked  all  that  machinery  about,  in  his  rage  at  seeing 
that  its  arms  were  more  powerful  than  his  own.  It  caused 
him  great  vexation,  even  when  he  reasoned  with  himself,  and 
told  himself  that  flesh  could  not  possibly  fight  against  iron. 
Some  day  or  other  machinery  would  certainly  kill  the  work- 
man ;  wages  had  already  fallen  from  twelve  francs  to  nine 
francs  a  day,  and  there  was  a  talk  of  lowering  them  still 
more ;  in  short,  there  was  nothing  to  enliven  one  in  those 
hulking  contrivances  which  made  bolts  and  rivets  much 
the  same  as  they  might  have  made  sausages.  He  gazed 
at  that  one  for  fully  three  minutes  without  saying  a  word ; 
his  brow  contracting,  and  his  beautiful  yellow  beard  bristling 
menacingly.  Then  a  look  of  gentleness  and  resignation 
gradually  softened  his  features,  and  turning  towards  Gervaise, 
who  was  pressing  against  him,  he  said  with  a  melancholy 
smile  :  *  Eh  !  it  makes  one  feel  precious  small !  But  perhaps 
it  will  some  day  help  to  insure  the  happiness  of  all  of  us.' 

Gervaise  did  not  care  a  fig  for  universal  happiness.  She 
declared  that  the  machine-made  bolts  were  badly  forged. 
*  You  understand  what  I  mean,'  she  exclaimed  with  warmth  ; 
'  they  are  too  well  done.  I  like  yours  better.  In  them  one 
can  at  least  trace  the  hand  of  an  artist.' 

By  speaking  thus  she  gave  him  great  comfort,  for  he  had 
feared  for  a  moment  that  she  would  despise  him  after  seeing 
the  machines.  Truth  to  tell,  indeed,  although  he  might  be 
stronger  than  Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink-withont- Thirst, 

M 


i62  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  machines  were  stronger  than  he  was.  When  he  at 
length  parted  from  Gervaise  in  the  courtyard,  he  squeezed 
her  wrists  almost  to  the  point  of  breaking  them,  so  great  was 
the  joy  he  felt. 

The  laundress  went  every  Saturday  to  the  Goujets,  to 
take  their  washing  home.  They  still  lived  in  the  little 
house  in  the  Rue  Neuve  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  Every  month 
during  the  first  year  Gervaise  had  regularly  repaid  them 
twenty  francs  of  the  borrowed  money.  However,  in  order  not 
to  mix  up  the  accounts,  the  washing-book  was  only  made  up 
once  a  month,  and  then  she  added  to  the  amount  whatever  sum 
might  be  necessary  to  make  the  twenty  francs,  for  in  that  space 
of  time  the  Goujets'  washing  rarely  came  to  more  than  seven  or 
eight  francs.  Gervaise  had  therefore  paid  off  nearly  half  the 
sum  owing  to  her  friend,  when  one  quarter  day,  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  since  some  of  her  customers  had  failed  to  keep  their 
promises,  she  had  been  obliged  to  go  to  the  Goujets,  and 
borrow  from  them  sufficient  for  her  rent.  On  two  other 
occasions  she  had  also  applied  to  them  for  money  to  pay  her 
workwomen,  so  that  the  debt  had  increased  again  to  four 
hundred  and  twenty-five  francs.  And  now  she  no  longer 
paid  a  halfpenny  of  it;  she  tried  to  work  off  the  amount 
solely  by  the  washing.  It  was  not  that  she  worked  less,  or 
that  her  business  was  not  so  prosperous.  On  the  contrary. 
But  something  was  going  wrong  in  her  home ;  the  money 
she  received  seemed  to  melt  away,  and  she  was  glad  when 
she  was  able  to  make  both  ends  meet.  After  all,  however, 
provided  one  lives,  one  hasn't  much  right  to  complain. 
Withal  Gervaise  was  getting  fatter  ;  she  gave  way  to  all  the 
inclination  to  drift  on,  born  of  dawning  obesity,  lacking  the 
strength  to  feel  frightened  when  she  thought  of  the  future. 
So  much  the  worse  !  money  would  always  come  in,  and 
putting  it  by  only  made  it  rusty.  In  spite  of  all  this 
Madame  Goujet  continued  to  treat  Gervaise  in  a  maternal 
manner.  She  gently  lectured  her  at  times,  not,  however,  on 
account  of  the  money,  but  because  she  was  fond  of  her  and 
feared  to  see  her  take  a  downward  pluDge.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  she  never  even  mentioned  the  debt.  In  short,  she 
behaved  with  a  great  deal  of  delicacy. 

It  so  happened  that  the  morrow  of  Gervaise' s  visit  to  the 
forge  was  the  last  Saturday  of  the  month.  When  she 
reached  the  Goujets'  rooms,  for  she  had  reasons  for  wish- 
ing to  take  their  linen  home  herself,  she  remained  for  quite 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  163 

two  minutes  unable  to  get  her  breath,  for  her  basket  had 
proved  a  terrible  burden.  One  can  hardly  believe  how  heavily 
washing  may  weigh,  especially  when  there  are  sheets  among 
the  things. 

*  Are  you  sure  you've  brought  everything  ? '  asked  Madame 
Goujet,  who,  for  the  sake  of  order,  as  she  said,  was  very  strict 
on  that  point,  unwilling  to  allow  that  even  a  single  article 
should  be  kept  back.  Moreover,  she  required  the  laundress 
to  come  invariably  on  the  day  that  had  been  arranged,  and 
always  at  the  same  hour ;  in  that  way,  she  added,  there 
was  no  time  wasted. 

*  Oh !  yes,  everything  is  here,'  replied  Gervaise,  smiling. 
*You  know  that  I  never  keep  a  thing  back.' 

*  That's  true,'  admitted  Madame  Goujet ;  *  you've  got  into 
many  bad  habits,  but  you're  still  free  of  that  one.*  And 
whilst  the  laundress  emptied  her  basket,  laying  the  linen  on 
the  bed,  the  old  woman  began  to  praise  her :  she  never  burnt 
the  things,  or  tore  them  as  so  many  others  did,  neither  did 
she  pull  the  buttons  off  with  the  iron  ;  only  she  used  rather 
too  much  blue,  and  made  the  shirt  fronts  over  stiff  with 
starch. 

*  Just  look,  it's  like  cardboard,'  she  continued,  making  one 
crackle  between  her  fingers.  *  My  son  does  not  complain,  but 
it  cuts  his  neck.  To-morrow  his  neck  will  be  all  red  when  we 
return  from  Vincennes.' 

*  Oh  I  don't  say  that  I '  exclaimed  Gervaise,  quite  grieved. 
*  Shirts  must  be  rather  stiff  to  look  nice,  otherwise  it's  just  as 
though  one  had  a  rag  on  one's  body.  You  should  just  see 
how  gentlemen  have  theirs  done.  I  do  all  your  things  myself. 
The  workwomen  never  touch  them,  and  I  assure  you  I  take 
great  pains — I  would  if  necessary  do  everything  over  a  dozen 
times — because  it's  for  you,  you  know ' 

She  blushed  faintly  as  she  stammered  out  the  last  words. 
She  was  afraid  of  showing  the  great  pleasure  she  took  in  iron- 
ing Goujet' s  things.  She  certainly  had  no  wicked  thoughts, 
but  she  was  none  the  less  a  little  bit  ashamed. 

'  Oh,  I'm  not  complaining  of  your  work  ;  I  know  it's  per- 
fection,' said  Madame  Goujet.  *  For  instance,  you've  done 
this  cap  splendidly,  only  you  could  bring  out  the  embroidery 
Uke  that.  And  the  goffering  is  all  so  even.  Oh,  1  recognise 
your  hand  at  once.  When  you  give  merely  a  dish-cloth  to 
one  of  your  workwomen  I  detect  it  at  once.  But  in  future,  use  a 

m2 


r64  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

little  less  starch,  that's  all.  Goujet  does  not  care  to  look  like 
a  gentleman.' 

Then  she  took  up  the  book  and  ticked  off  the  items  with  a 
pen.  Everything  was  there,  right  enough.  When  they  made 
up  the  account,  however,  she  saw  that  Gervaise  had  charged 
six  sous  for  a  cap,  at  which  she  began  to  protest  ;  but  she 
had  to  admit  that  the  charges  for  the  other  things  were  very 
low :  shirts  five  sous,  pants  four  sous,  pillow-cases  a  sou  and 
a  half,  aprons  a  sou  apiece  ;  which  really  was  not  dear,  as 
many  laundresses  charged  two  Hards,  and  even  a  sou  more  for 
each  of  those  articles.  Then,  when  Gervaise  had  called  over 
the  dirty  hnen,  a  list  of  which  the  old  woman  wrote  down, 
she  put  it  in  the  basket ;  but,  instead  of  taking  her  leave,  she 
remained  there  in  an  embarrassed  sort  of  way,  with  a  request 
on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  which  she  could  scarcely  screw  up 
sufficient  courage  to  utter. 

*  Madame  Goujet,'  said  she  at  length,  *  if  it  does  not 
inconvenience  you,  I  should  like  to  take  the  money  for  this 
month's  washing.' 

It  so  happened  that  this  particular  month  was  a  very 
heavy  one,  the  account  which  they  had  made  up  together 
running  to  ten  francs  and  seven  sous.  Madame  Goujet 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  a  serious  manner,  and  then 
replied  :  '  My  child,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish.  I  won't  refuse 
you  the  money,  as  you  are  in  want  of  it.  Only,  it's  scarcely 
the  way  to  pay  off  your  debt,  you  know  ;  I  say  that  for  your 
sake.     Eeally  now,  you  should  be  careful.' 

Gervaise  received  the  lecture  with  bowed  head,  and 
stammered  excuses.  The  ten  francs  were  to  complete  the 
amount  of  a  bill  which  she  had  given  to  her  coke  merchant. 
But  on  hearing  the  word  '  bill,'  Madame  Goujet  became 
severer  still.  She  cited  herself  as  an  example :  she  had 
reduced  her  expenditure,  ever  since  Goujet's  wages  had  been 
lowered  from  twelve  to  nine  francs  a  day.  When  one  was 
wanting  in  wisdom  whilst  young,  one  died  of  hunger  in  one's 
old  age.  Yet,  she  restrained  herself  ;  she  did  not  tell  Gervaise 
that  she  merely  gave  her  the  washing  to  do  to  enable  her  to  pay 
off  her  debt.  In  former  times  she  had  washed  everything  her- 
self, and  would  do  so  again  if  the  washing  was  going  to  draw 
sums  like  that  out  of  her  pocket.  When  Gervaise,  however, 
had  hold  of  the  ten  francs  seven  sous,  she  murmured  her 
thanks  and  hastened  away.  A.nd  once  outside  on  the  landing 
she  experienced  a  sensation  of  relief,  and  even  felt  inclined  to 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  165 

dance,  for  she  was  already  becoming  accustomed  to  pecuniary 
worries,  recollecting  but  the  delight  of  getting  free  of  them, 
until  they  arose  again. 

However,  on  that  same  particular  Saturday  Gervaise  met 
with  a  rather  strange  adventure  as  she  was  descending  the 
Goujets'  staircase.  She  was  obliged  to  stand  close  against 
the  balusters  with  her  basket,  to  make  way  for  a  tall  bare- 
headed woman  who  was  coming  up,  carrying  a  fresh  mackerel, 
with  rosy  gills,  in  a  piece  of  paper.  And  in  this  tall  woman 
she  recognised  Virginie  whom,  long  ago,  she  had  trounced  so 
thoroughly  at  the  wash-house.  For  a  moment  they  looked 
each  other  full  in  the  face.  Then  Gervaise  shut  her  eyes,  for 
she  thought  that  she  was  going  to  receive  a  whack  with  the 
mackerel.  But  no,  Virginie  faintly  smiled.  And  then  the 
laundress,  wishing  to  behave  politely — for  her  basket  was 
blocking  up  the  staircase — exclaimed  :  *  Pray,  excuse  me.* 

*  Most  willingly,'  replied  the  tall  brunette. 

And  they  remained  conversing  on  the  stairs,  reconciled  at 
once  without  having  ventured  on  a  single  allusion  to  the  past. 
Virginie,  then  nine-and-twenty,  had  become  a  superb  creature 
of  strapping  proportions,  though  her  face  still  looked  rather 
long  between  her  plaits  of  jet  black  hair.  She  at  once  began 
to  relate  her  history,  by  way  of  showing  that  she  had  attained 
a  position.  She  had  a  husband  now ;  during  the  previous 
spring  she  had  married  an  ex-journeyman  cabinet-maker,  who 
had  recently  left  the  army  and  had  since  applied  for  ad- 
mission into  the  police  force,  because  regular  employment  of 
that  kind  was  a  thing  to  be  depended  on,  besides  being  more  gen- 
teel than  most  other  callings.  And  as  it  happened,  she  had 
just  been  to  buy  that  mackerel  for  him.  *  He  is  awfully 
fond  of  mackerel,'  said  she.  '  We  have  to  spoil  those  naughty 
men,  don't  we  ?  But  come  up.  You  shall  see  our  home.  We 
are  standing  in  a  draught  here.' 

When  Gervaise,  after  in  her  turn  relating  the  story  of  her 
marriage,  mentioned  that  she  had  lived  in  the  very  same 
lodging,  and  had  even  given  birth  to  a  daughter  there,  Virginie 
pressed  her  to  come  up  more  than  ever,  saying  that  it  was 
always  a  pleasure  to  revisit  the  places  where  one  had  been 
happy.  For  her  part  she  had  been  residing  for  five  years  past 
in  the  Gros-Caillou  district,  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  It 
was  there  that  she  had  first  met  her  husband,  who  was  then 
in  the  army.  But  it  was  a  dull  place,  and  she  had  longed 
to  return  to  the  neighbourhood  of   the  Goutte-d'Or,  where 


i66  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

she  knew  everybody.  She  had  been  living  in  the  lodging 
facing  the  Goujets  for  the  last  fortnight.  Oh,  all  her  things 
were  still  in  great  disorder,  but  they  would  get  straight  little 
by  little. 

Then,  on  reaching  the  landing  they  at  length  told  each 
other  their  names  : 

*  Madame  Coupeau.* 

*  Madame  Poisson.' 

And  from  that  time  forth,  they  called  each  other  Madame 
Poisson  and  Madame  Coupeau  on  every  possible  occasion, 
solely  for  the  pleasure  of  being  dames,  they  who  when  formerly 
acquainted  had  occupied  rather  questionable  positions.  How- 
ever, Gervaise  felt  somewhat  mistrustful  at  heart.  Perhaps 
the  tall  brunette  was  only  seeking  this  reconciliation  in  order 
to  avenge  herself  for  her  wash-house  beating  in  some  stealthy, 
spiteful  way.  At  all  events  the  laundress  resolved  to  be  on 
her  guard.  For  the  nonce,  as  Virginie  behaved  so  nicely,  she 
would  be  nice  also. 

In  the  room  upstairs,  Poisson,  the  husband,  a  man  of  five- 
and-thirty,  with  a  cadaverous  face  and  carroty  moustaches 
and  imperial,  sat  working  at  a  table  near  the  window.  He 
was  making  little  boxes,  his  only  tools  being  a  penknife,  a 
saw  about  the  size  of  a  nail  file,  and  a  pot  of  glue.  The  wood 
which  he  used  came  from  old  cigar  boxes,  thin  strips  of  un- 
polished mahogany,  which  he  carved  and  embellished  with 
extraordinary  delicacy.  All  day  long,  from  one  end  of  the 
year  to  the  other,  he  made  similar  boxes,  invariably  three 
inches  long  by  two  and  a  quarter  broad.  Only,  he  checkered 
them,  varied  the  shapes  of  their  lids,  and  divided  them  into 
divers  compartments.  The  work  amused  him  and  helped  him 
to  kill  time  whilst  awaiting  his  appointment  in  the  police.  Of 
his  old  calling  of  cabinet-making,  he  had  only  retained  this 
mania  for  piecing  little  boxes  together.  And  he  did  not  sell 
his  work,  but  distributed  it  in  presents  among  persons  of  his 
acquaintance. 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  politely  bowed  to  Gervaise, 
whom  his  wife  introduced  to  him  as  one  of  her  old  friends. 
But  he  was  no  talker,  and  at  once  returned  to  his  little  saw, 
merely  glancing  from  time  to  time  in  the  direction  of  the 
mackerel,  which  had  been  laid  on  a  corner  of  the  chest  of 
drawers.  Gervaise  was  very  pleased  to  see  her  old  lodging 
once  more.  She  told  them  whereabouts  her  own  furniture 
had  stood,  and  of  her  mishap  at  the  time  of  Nana*s  birth. 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  167 

And  what  a  curious  thing  it  all  was !  When  they  had  lost 
sight  of  each  other  in  former  days,  they  would  never  have 
thought  of  meeting  again  like  that,  and  of  living  one  after 
the  other  in  the  same  rooms.  Then  Virginie  gave  some 
further  information  about  herself  and  her  husband.  He  had 
inherited  a  small  sum  of  money  from  an  aunt,  and  would  no 
doubt  set  her  up  in  business  later  on.  For  the  time  being, 
she  continued  to  do  needle-work,  and  now  and  again  made  a 
dress.  At  length,  at  the  end  of  a  good  half-hour,  the  laun- 
dress took  her  leave.  Poisson  scarcely  turned  round,  but 
Virginie,  who  escorted  her  out  of  the  room,  promised  to 
return  her  visit.  Moreover,  she  arranged  to  give  Gervaise 
her  custom,  that  was  understood  ;  and  as  she  detained  her 
on  the  landing,  the  other  fancied  that  she  wished  to  speak  to 
her  of  Lantier,  and  her  sister  Adele,  the  burnisher.  At  this 
prospect  she  felt  quite  upset,  but  not  a  word  was  uttered 
respecting  those  unpleasant  things  ;  they  parted,  wishing  each 
other  an  revoir  in  a  very  amiable  manner. 

^  Au  revoir^  Madame  Coupeau.' 

*  A^i  revoir,  Madame  Poisson.' 

This  was  the  starting-point  of  a  great  friendship.  A  week 
later,  Virginie  never  passed  Gervaise's  shop  without  going  in ; 
and  she  remained  there  gossiping  for  hours  together,  to  such 
an  extent,  indeed,  that  Poisson,  full  of  anxiety,  fearing  lest 
she  had  been  run  over,  would  come,  with  death-like  counten- 
ance, in  search  of  her.  Then  as  Gervaise  thus  saw  the 
dressmaker  day  by  day  she  became  absorbed  in  a  fixed  idea. 
She  could  never  hear  the  other  commence  a  sentence  without 
thinking  that  she  was  going  to  speak  of  Lantier,  on  whom 
her  thoughts  were  invariably  fixed  all  the  time  that  Virginie 
remained  with  her.  This  was  stupid,  for  she  really  did  not 
care  a  pin  for  her  old  lover  and  Adele,  nor  for  what  had 
become  of  them  ;  she  never  asked  a  question  on  the  subject ; 
in  fact,  she  did  not  feel  the  least  curiosity  to  have  any  news 
of  them.  No  ;  if  thoughts  of  the  past  thus  came  upon  her, 
cUnging  to  her  mind  in  the  same  way  as  some  bothering 
refrain  will  stick  to  the  tongue,  and  decline  to  be  got  rid  of, 
it  was  quite  in  spite  of  her  own  will.  Withal,  she  did  not 
bear  Virginie  any  grudge,  for  what  had  happened  was 
certainly  not  Virginie's  fault.  She  enjoyed  her  society  very 
much,  and  would  often  detain  her  a  dozen  times  before  letting 
her  go. 

Meanwhile,  winter  had  come,  the  Coupeaus'  fourth  winter 


i68  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

in  the  Eue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  December  and  January  were 
particularly  cold.  It  froze  as  hard  as  it  well  could.  After 
New  Year's  Day,  the  snov/  lay  in  the  street  for  three  weeks 
without  melting.  This  did  not  interfere  with  work ;  on  the 
contrary,  for  winter  is  the  best  season  for  the  ironers.  It  was 
very  pleasant  inside  the  shop.  There  was  never  any  ice  on 
the  window-panes,  as  at  the  grocer's  and  the  hosier's  opposite. 
The  stove,  crammed  full  of  coke,  and  the  clothes  steaming 
away,  kept  np  the  heat  of  a  bath-room;  one  might  have 
thought  oneself  in  the  height  of  summer.  In  fact  the  place 
was  so  comfortable  with  the  doors  shut,  so  full  of  warmth, 
that  one  could  have  fallen  asleep  with  one's  eyes  open. 
Gervaise  would  say,  with  a  laugh,  that  she  fancied  herself  in 
the  country.  And  true  enough,  the  vehicles  rolled  noiselessly 
over  the  snow,  and  one  scarcely  heard  the  footfalls  of  the 
pedestrians.  In  the  great  silence  resulting  from  the  cold,  the 
only  sound  was  that  of  the  voices  of  some  children,  the 
shouting  of  a  troop  of  youngsters  who  had  made  a  big  slide 
along  the  gutter  of  the  farriery.  Now  and  again  Gervaise 
would  go  to  the  door,  anJ,  wiping  the  steam  from  one  of  the 
panes  of  glass,  would  look  out  to  see  how  the  neighbourhood 
was  getting  on  in  that  frigid  temperature  ;  but  not  a  face 
peeped  forth  from  any  of  the  shops  over  the  way.  The 
neighbourhood,  wrapped  in  snow,  seemed  to  be  sulking  ;  and 
she  was  only  able  to  exchange  a  nod  with  Madame  Vigouroux, 
the  charcoal-dealer,  who  had  walked  about  bareheaded,  and 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  ever  since  the  severe  frost  had  set 
in. 

What  was  especially  enjoyable  in  that  awful  weather  was 
to  drink  one's  black  coffee  nice  and  hot  after  the  mid-day 
meal.  The  workwomen  had  no  cause  for  complaint.  The 
mistress  made  the  coffee  very  strong,  and  never  mixed  a  grain 
of  chicory  with  it.  It  was  quite  different  from  Madame 
Fauconnier's  coffee,  which  was  real  ditch-water.  Only  when- 
ever Mother  Coupeau  undertook  to  make  it,  there  was  an 
interminable  interval  before  it  was  ready,  because  she 
invariably  fell  asleep  over  the  kettle.  On  these  occasions, 
when  the  workwomen  had  finished  lunch,  they  would  do  a 
little  ironing  to  beguile  their  spell  of  waiting. 

It  so  happened  that  on  the  morrow  of  Twelfth-day  the 
clock  struck  half-past  twelve,  and  still  the  coffee  was  not 
ready.  It  seemed  bent  on  refusing  to  pass  through  the 
strainer,  and  however  much  Mother  Coupeau  tapped  the  pot 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  169 

with  a  spoon,  one  could  hear  the   drops   still  falling  very 
slowly,  one  by  one,   heedless   of   the    injunction  to  make 

'  Oh !  let  the  coffee  be  I '  suddenly  exclaimed  tall 
Clemence  ;  '  you'll  make  it  thick.  There'll  certamly  be  as 
much  to  eat  as  to  drink  in  it  to-day.' 

Clemence  was  getting  up  a  shirt,  the  plaits  of  which  she 
separated  with  her  finger-nails.  She  had  lately  caught  a 
terrible  cold,  her  eyes  were  swollen,  and  every  now  and  again 
her  chest  shook  with  fits  of  coughing,  which  doubled  her  up 
beside  the  work-table.  All  the  same,  she  did  not  even  wear 
a  handkerchief  round  her  neck,  and  was  flimsily  dressed  in 
some  cheap  woollen  stuff,  so  thin  that  she  shivered  in  it. 
Close  by,  Madame  Putois  was  wrapped  in  flannel,  muffled  up 
to  her  very  ears,  whilst  ironing  a  petticoat,  which  she  turned 
round  a  skirtboard,  the  narrow  end  of  which  rested  on  the 
back  of  a  chair.  A  sheet  spread  upon  the  floor  prevented 
the  garment  from  getting  dirty  when  it  trailed  along  the 
tiles.  Then  came  Gervaise,  occupying  half  the  work-table 
with  some  embroidered  muslin  curtains,  over  which  she 
passed  her  h'on  in  a  straight  line,  with  her  arms  extended  so 
as  to  avoid  making  any  creases.  All  at  once,  however,  a  noise 
coming  from  the  coffee,  which  suddenly  began  to  flow  briskly 
through  the  strainer,  caused  her  to  raise  her  head.  It  was 
that  squint-eyed  Augustine,  who  had  just  given  the  liquid  an 
outlet  by  thrusting  a  spoon  into  the  strainer. 

*  Leave  it  alone  !  '  cried  Gervaise.  *  Whatever  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?     We  shall  have  mud  to  drink,  now.' 

However,  Mother  Coupeau  placed  five  glasses  on  a  vacant 
corner  of  the  ironing-table,  and  the  others  left  their  work. 
The  mistress  always  poured  out  the  coffee  herself,  after 
dropping  two  lumps  of  sugar  into  each  glass.  This  was  the 
moment  of  the  day  that  they  all  looked  forward  to.  On  this 
occasion,  just  as  each  one  was  taking  her  glass  and  squatting 
down  on  a  little  stool  in  front  of  the  stove,  the  shop-door 
opened.     Virginie  entered,  shivering  all  over. 

'  Ah,  my  children,'  said  she,  *  the  cold  cuts  you  in  two  ! 
I  can  no  longer  feel  my  ears.     It's  something  awful !  ' 

*  Why,  it's  Madame  Poisson  !  '  exclaimed  Gervaise.  *  Ah, 
well !  you've  come  at  the  right  time.  You  must  have  some 
coffee  with  us.' 

*  On  my  word,  I  won't  say  no.  One  feels  the  frost  in  one's 
bones  merely  on  crossing  the  street.' 


170  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Luckily  there  was  still  some  co£fee  left  in  the  pot,  so 
Mother  Coupeau  fetched  a  sixth  glass,  and  Gervaise  let 
Virginie  help  herself  to  sugar,  out  of  politeness.  The  work- 
women drew  on  one  side,  and  made  room  for  the  new-comer 
near  the  stove.  For  a  moment  she  sat  there  shivering,  her 
nose  all  red,  and  her  stiff  hands  close  pressed  round  her  glass, 
in  order  to  warm  them.  She  had  come,  said  she,  from  the 
grocer's,  where  one  froze  whilst  waiting  but  a  moment  for  a 
quarter  of  a  pound  of  Gruyere  cheese.  Then  she  went  into 
ecstasies  over  the  great  heat  of  the  laundry  shop.  Eeally,  it 
was  like  entering  an  oven,  such  warmth  was  enough  to  bring 
the  dead  to  life  again  ;  it  filled  one  with  such  a  pleasant 
sensation.  Then,  having  got  rid  of  her  numbness,  she 
stretched  out  her  long  legs.  And  with  the  work  which  had 
been  left  unfinished  lying  all  around,  all  six  of  them  slowly 
sipped  their  coffee  amidst  the  moist  and  somewhat  oppressive 
warmth  which  came  from  the  steaming  clothes.  Only  Mother 
Coupeau  and  Virginie  were  seated  on  chairs ;  the  others,  on 
their  low  stools,  looked  almost  as  though  they  were  on  the 
floor ;  in  fact,  that  squint-eyed  Augustine  had  pulled  a  part 
of  the  sheet  from  under  the  petticoat,  ironed  by  Madame 
Putois,  so  as  to  sprawl  upon  it.  No  one  spoke  at  first ;  for 
all  were  tasting  the  coffee,  with  their  noses  dipping  in  their 
glasses. 

*  It's  not  bad  all  the  same,'  declared  Cl^mence.  But 
immediately  afterwards  she  almost  choked,  such  a  fit  of 
coughing  came  upon  her.  To  cough  with  greater  force,  and 
thus  relieve  herself,  she  rested  her  head  against  the  wall. 

'  That's  a  bad  cough  you've  got,*  said  Virginie.  *  Wher- 
ever did  you  catch  it  ?  ' 

*  One  never  knows  !  '  replied  Clemence,  wiping  her  face 
with  her  sleeve.  *  It  must  have  been  the  other  night.  There 
were  two  girls  flaying  each  other  outside  the  "Grand-Balcony." 
I  wanted  to  see  them,  so  I  stayed  there  while  the  snow  was 
falling.  Ah,  what  a  drubbing !  it  was  enough  to  make  one 
die  of  laughter.  One  had  her  nose  almost  pulled  off;  the 
blood  streamed  on  the  ground.  And  when  the  other,  a  great 
long  stick  like  me,  saw  the  blood,  she  slipped  off  as  fast  as 
she  could.     And  then  that  night  I  began  to  cough.* 

*  Foolish  conduct  that,'  murmured  Madame  Putois. 
*  You're  killing  yourself,  my  girl.' 

*  Well,  and  what  if  it  pleases  me  to  kill  myself  1  Life 
isn't  so  jolly  as  to  make  one  care  for  it.   Slaving  all  the  blessed 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  171 

day  to  earn  fifty-five  sous,  boiling  one's  blood  from  morning 
to  night  in  front  of  a  stove  ;  no,  you  know,  I've  had  enough 
of  it  I  All  the  same  though,  this  blessed  cough  won't  make 
me  croak,  worse  luck  I     It'll  go  off  the  same  as  it  came.' 

A  pause  ensued.  That  good-for-nothing  Clemence,  who 
kicked  up  her  feet  and  shrieked  like  a  screech-owl  in  low 
dancing  halls,  always  saddened  people  with  the  ideas  of  hop- 
ping the  twig  which  came  over  her  at  the  shop.  Gervaise 
knew  her  well,  and  so  merely  observed,  *  You're  not  lively 
after  you've  been  on  the  batter !  ' 

The  truth  was  that  Gervaise  did  not  like  this  talk  about 
women  fighting.  Eemembering  the  correction  which  she 
had  long  ago  administered  to  Virginie  at  the  wash-house,  it 
annoyed  her  whenever  anyone  spoke  before  her  and  the  other 
of  shin-kicking  with  wooden  shoes  and  five-finger  facial  exer- 
cise. It  so  happened,  too,  that  Virginie  was  looking  at  her 
and  smiling, 

'  Oh  !  *  murmured  the  tall  brunette,  *  I  saw  a  couple 
pulling  each  other's  hair  out  by  the  roots  yesterday.  They 
were  tearing  each  other  to  pieces.' 

*  Who  was  that  ? '  asked  Madame  Putois. 

*  "Why  the  midwife  at  the  end  of  the  street  and  her  ser- 
vant— you  know,  a  little  blonde.  She's  a  spiteful  hussy,  that 
gui!  She  said  to  the  other,  **Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  about 
you,  and  I'll  go  and  tell  the  commissary  of  pohce,  if  you 
don't  pay  me.'  *  And  she  went  on  saying  such  awful  things  that 
the  midwife  let  fly  and  gave  her  one  fuU  on  the  conk.  But 
the  little  wretch  flew  at  her  missus,  and  scratched  her  face, 
and  pulled  out  her  hair,  ohl  in  grand  style.  The  pork- 
butcher  had  to  separate  them.* 

Clemence  and  Madame  Putois  laughed  complacently. 
Then  each  took  a  sip  of  coffee,  with  an  air  of  gluttonous  en- 
joyment. But  they  suddenly  noticed  that  Augustine,  the 
little  good-for-nothing,  was  still  venting  the  hen-like  cluck- 
cluck,  which  was  her  usual  expression  of  merriment.  They 
had  hitherto  forgotten  her,  but  Gervaise  now  drew  aside  the 
petticoat,  and  found  her  rolhng  about  on  the  sheet  like  a 
young  pig.  Forthwith  she  pulled  her  away,  and  set  her  on 
her  legs  by  means  of  a  smack.  What  did  she  see  to  laugh 
at,  the  fool  ?  She  had  no  business  to  listen  when  grown-up 
people  were  talking  1  To  begin  with,  she  would  just  take  the 
washing  home  to  a  friend  of  Madame  Lerat's  at  Batignolles. 
Thus  speaking,  Gervaise  put  the  basket  on  her  arm,  and 


172  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

pushed  her  towards  the  door,  And  then  the  squint-eyed  one, 
surly  and  tearful,  went  off  slowly,  dragging  her  feet  over  the 
snow. 

Meanwhile,  Mother  Coupeau,  Madame  Putois,  and  Cle- 
mence  had  begun  to  discuss  some  scandal  concerning  the  mid- 
wife, who  had  been  so  soundly  trounced  by  her  servant. 
But  all  at  once  Virginie,  who  remained  thoughtful,  with  her 
glass  of  coffee  in  her  hand,  said,  in  a  very  low  voice  :  '  Keally 
now,  people  fight,  and  then  make  it  up  ;  things  always  come 
right  at  last,  when  folks  are  good-natured.'  And,  leaning 
towards  Gervaise,  she  added,  with  a  smile  :  '  No,  truly,  I  bear 
you  no  ill-will.  I  mean  the  wash-house  matter,  you  recollect 
it?' 

The  laundress  felt  dreadfully  embarrassed.  This  was  what 
she  had  feared.  She  guessed  that  the  other  meant  to  speak 
to  her  of  Lantier  and  Adele. 

The  stove  was  roaring  now,  and  yet  greater  heat  came 
from  the  red-hot  pipe.  Amidst  the  general  drowsiness,  the 
workwomen,  who  made  their  coffee  last  as  long  as  they 
could,  so  as  to  return  to  work  at  the  latest  possible  moment, 
sat  watching  the  snow  in  the  street  with  covetous  and  languid 
eyes.  They  were  in  a  confidential  mood,  and  related  how 
they  would  have  lived  if  they  had  possessed  an  income  of 
ten  thousand  francs  a  year  ;  they  would  simply  have  done 
nothing  at  all,  they  would  have  remained  like  that,  warming 
themselves  all  day  long,  and  spitting  at  work  from  a  distance. 
Then  Virginie  drew  nearer  to  Gervaise,  so  as  not  to  be  heard 
by  the  others ;  and  Gervaise,  by  reason  no  doubt  of  the  great 
heat,  felt  so  cowardly  and  weak,  that  she  lacked  strength  to 
turn  the  conversation  into  another  channel.  Indeed,  she 
even  waited  expectantly  for  what  the  tall  brunette  might 
have  to  say,  her  heart  full  of  an  emotion  which  she  enjoyed 
without  admitting  it. 

*  I  hope  I'm  not  giving  you  pain,'  resumed  the  dressmaker. 
'  But  twenty  times  already  it's  been  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue 
to  say  so.  However,  as  we've  broached  the  subject,  it's  just 
as  well  to  talk  it  over,  isn't  it  ?  Ah  !  really  now,  I  don't  bear 
you  any  ill-will  for  what  took  place.  On  my  word  of  honour  I 
I  bear  you  no  grudge  at  all.' 

She  shook  the  remains  of  her  coffee  round  in  her  glass, 
so  as  to  prevent  any  sugar  from  clinging  to  the  bottom,  and 
then  drank  three  drops  with  a  slight  hissing  of  her  hps. 
Gervaise,  with  a  swelling  in  her  throat,  still  waited,  wondering 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  173 

if  it  were  indeed  true  that  the  other  had  forgiven  her  that 
famous  walloping  ;  she  doubted  it,  for  she  noticed  some 
yellow  sparks  glimmering  in  that  tall  she-devil's  black  eyes. 
She  had  probably  merely  put  her  rancour  in  her  pocket  and 
covered  it  with  her  handkerchief. 

*  Besides,  you  had  an  excuse,'  Virginie  continued.  *  You 
had  just  been  treated  in  a  shameful,  an  abominable  manner. 
Oh!  lean  be  just,  you  know  I  Had  it  been  me,  I'd  have 
taken  a  knife.' 

Then  she  drank  three  more  drops  of  coffee,  her  lips  again 
giving  out  a  sibillant  sound  at  the  edge  of  the  glass.  And 
afterwards,  relinquishing  her  usual  drawl,  she  added  rapidly, 
without  a  break  :  '  And  it  didn't  bring  them  any  luck,  ah  1 
certainly,  no  !  very  far  from  it !  They  went  to  live  the  devil 
knows  w^here — right  away  by  La  Glaciere,  in  a  dirty  street 
where  one  always  has  mud  up  to  one's  knees.  Two  days 
afterwards,  I  went  off  in  the  morning  to  lunch  with  them  ; 
it  was  quite  a  journey  in  the  omnibus,  I  can  tell  you! 
Well,  my  dear,  I  found  them  already  wrangling  together. 
Really,  just  as  I  entered  the  room  they  were  knocking  each 
other  about !  There  were  lovers  for  you  !  But  Adele,  you 
know,  isn't  worth  the  price  of  a  rope  to  hang  her.  She's 
my  sister,  still  that  doesn't  prevent  my  saying  that  she's  a 
perfect  hussy.  She's  treated  me  shamefully  ;  but  that's  too 
long  to  tell,  besides  it's  a  matter  to  be  settled  between  her 
and  me.  As  for  Lantier,  well!  you  know  him,  he  isn't 
worth  much  either.  A  stuck-up  little  gentleman,  who  knocks 
you  about  for  a  **  Yes  "  or  a  "No"  !  And  he  has  a  hard 
fist  when  he  strikes.  So  they  belaboured  each  other  in  all 
conscience.  Whenever  anyone  went  up  the  stairs  they  could 
be  heard  going  it,  hammer  and  tongs.  One  day,  evpn,  the 
police  interfered.  Lantier  wanted  an  oil  soup,  it  seems, 
some  abominable  mess  that  they  eat  in  the  South  of  France ; 
and,  as  Adele  said  ifc  was  filthy,  they  chucked  the  bottle  of 
oil,  the  saucepan,  the  soup-tureen,  the  whole  show,  in  fact, 
at  one  another's  heads  ;  in  short,  there  was  a  row  that  upset 
the  whole  neighbourhood.' 

Then  she  related  other  awful  quarrels  that  had  taken 
place  ;  there  was  no  end  to  them  ;  she  knew  things  calculated 
to  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end.  Gervaise  listened  to  the 
whole  long  story  without  uttering  a  word  ;  her  face  was  very 
pale,  and  a  nervous  twitch  hovered  about  the  corners  of  her 
mouth,  resembling  a  faint  smile.     It  was  nearly  seven  years 


174  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

since  she  had  heard  any  one  speak  of  Lantier.  She  would 
never  have  believed  that  his  name,  thus  whispered  in  her 
ear,  could  have  brought  such  a  burning  sensation  to  the  pit 
of  her  stomach.  No,  she  had  never  imagined  that  she  could 
be  curious  as  to  what  had  become  of  the  wretched  being  who 
had  treated  her  so  shamefully.  She  could  not  be  jealous  of 
Adele  now ;  but  all  the  same  she  laughed  inwardly  as  she 
heard  of  the  couple's  squabbles.  She  could  fancy  she  saw 
the  girl's  body  black  and  blue  with  bruises,  and  this  both 
avenged  her  and  amused  her.  She  could  have  stayed  there 
till  the  morrow  listening  to  Virginie's  reports.  If  she  asked 
no  questions  it  was  simply  because  she  did  not  wish  to  evince 
too  much  interest  in  the  matter.  However,  it  was  as  though 
some  one  had  abruptly  filled  up  a  great  gap  for  her  ;  her  past 
now  joined  her  present  without  a  break. 

At  last  Virgmie  again  dipped  her  nose  into  her  glass,  and 
sucked  up  the  remaining  sugar,  half  closing  her  eyes  as  she 
did  so.  Then  Gervaise,  understanding  that  she  ought  to  say 
something,  assumed  an  air  of  indifference,  and  exclaimed 
interrogatively :  '  So  they  are  still  living  at  La  Glaciere  ? ' 

*  Oh,  no  1  '  replied  the  other  ;  '  didn't  I  tell  you  ?  They're 
no  longer  living  together.  One  fine  morning,  a  week  or  so  ago, 
Adele  went  off  with  her  things,  and  Lantier  didn't  run  after 
her,  I  can  assure  you.' 

At  this  the  lamidress  uttered  a  faint  cry,  and  repeated 
aloud  :  *  They're  no  longer  living  together  1  * 

*  Who  aren't  ? '  asked  tall  Cl^mence,  pausing  in  her 
conversation  with  Mother  Coupeau  and  Madame  Putois. 

*  Oh  !  nobody  you  know,'  said  Virginie,  who,  watching 
Gervaise,  noticed  that  she  looked  strangely  moved.  So  she 
drew  nearer,  and  seemed  to  take  a  wicked  pleasure  in  re- 
suming her  stories.  And  all  at  once  she  asked  the  laundress 
what  she  would  do  if  Lantier  should  come  hovering  about  her ; 
for,  after  all,  men  are  such  queer  things,  and  Lantier  was 
quite  capable  of  returning  to  his  first  love.  At  this  Gervaise 
drew  herself  up,  and  answered  with  great  clearness  and 
dignity.  She  was  married,  and  she  would  send  Lantier  to 
the  right-about,  that  was  all.  There  could  never  be  aught 
between  them  again,  not  even  a  shake  of  the  hands.  She 
w^ould  really  be  the  most  heartless  of  women,  should  she  ever 
look  that  man  in  the  face. 

*  I  know  very  well,'  said  she,  *  that  Etienne  is  his  child, 
which  is  a  tie  I  cannot  sever.     And  if  Lantier  should  wish 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  175 

to  kiss  Etienne,  I  would  send  Etienne  to  him,  because  it  is 
impossible  to  prevent  a  father  from  loving  his  child.  But  as 
for  me,  Madame  Poisson,  I  would  rather  let  myself  be  cut  into 
mincemeat  than  allow  him  to  touch  me  with  his  little  finger. 
It's  all  over.' 

As  she  uttered  these  last  words,  she  made  a  sign  of  the 
cross  in  the  air,  as  though  to  seal  her  oath  for  evermore. 
And,  desirous  of  putting  an  end  to  the  conversation,  she 
seemed  to  wake  up  all  at  once,  and  called  to  the  workwomen: 

*  I  say,  you  there  I  do  you  think  the  clothes  will  iron  them- 
selves ?     What  lazybones  you  are  I     Gee  up  1  to  work  ! ' 

The  women,  however,  numbed  as  they  were  by  their  lazy 
spell,  evinced  no  haste.  With  their  arms  lying  idly  on  their  laps, 
but  with  one  hand  still  holding  their  glasses,  in  which  only 
some  dregs  of  coffee  now  remained,  they  continued  conversing. 

*  It  was  little  Celestine,'  Cl^mence  was  saying.  *  I  knew  her. 
She  was  mad  about  cats'  hairs.  She  saw  them  everywhere  ; 
she  was  always  turning  her  tongue  about  like  this,  because 
she  thought  her  mouth  was  full  of  them.' 

One  of  my  friends,'  observed  Madame  Putois,  'was  a 
woman  who  suffered  from  tapeworm.  And  those  creatures 
have  all  sorts  of  whims.  That  one  would  wriggle  about  inside 
her,  if  she  didn't  give  it  chicken  to  eat.  Just  fancy,  the 
husband  earned  seven  francs  a  day,  and  all  the  money  went 
in  delicacies  for  the  worm.' 

'I  could  have  cured  her  at  once,  I  could,'  interrupted 
Mother  Coupeau.  *  Why !  yes,  all  that  one  has  to  do  is  to 
swallow  a  grilled  mouse.  It  poisons  the  worm  on  the 
instant.' 

Gervaise  herself  had  now  once  more  lapsed  into  happy 
indolence.  But  she  suddenly  shook  herself  and  rose  to  her 
feet.  Ah,  well !  there  was  an  afternoon  wasted  in  gossip  ! 
That  would  not  help  to  fill  her  purse  1  She  returned  the 
first  to  her  curtains,  but  found  them  stained  with  coffee  :  so 
that  before  resuming  her  ironing,  she  was  obliged  to  rub  the 
stains  with  a  damp  rag.  Meantime,  the  workwomen  stretched 
themselves  before  the  stove,  and  sulkily  looked  for  their  iron- 
holders.  The  moment  Clemence  moved,  she  was  seized  with 
another  bad  fit  of  coughing  ;  then  she  finished  her  shirt,  and 
pinned  its  collar  and  cuffs.  Madame  Putois  had  returned  to 
her  petticoat. 

•  Well  1  good-bye,*  said  Virginie.     *  I  only  came  out  to  get 


176  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  Gruyere  cheese.  Poisson  must  think 
that  I've  got  frozen  on  the  way.' 

However,  when  she  had  taken  a  couple  of  steps  along  the 
pavement,  she  opened  the  door  again  to  say  that  she  saw 
Augustine  sliding  over  the  ice  at  the  end  of  the  street,  with 
some  urchins.  It  was  a  good  two  hours  since  the  young 
hussy  had  started  on  her  errand.  At  last  she  came  running 
up,  quite  red  in  the  face  and  breathless,  with  her  basket 
dangling  from  her  arm,  and  her  chignon  white  with  the 
remnants  of  a  snowball.  And  with  a  sly  look  she  submitted 
to  the  scolding  she  received,  excusing  herself  by  saying  that 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  walk,  on  account  of  the  frost.  Some 
ragamuffin,  by  way  of  a  joke,  had  probably  stuffed  bits  of  ice 
into  both  her  pockets,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  they 
began  to  water  the  shop  like  a  couple  of  funnels. 

Throughout  that  season  all  Gervaise's  afternoons  were 
passed  in  the  same  way.  Her  shop  became  the  refuge  of  all 
the  chilly  people  of  the  neighbourhood.  Every  one  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  knew  that  it  was  warm  in  there.  So 
the  place  was  constantly  full  of  cackling  women,  who  sat 
enjoying  the  heat  from  the  stove,  with  their  skirts  tucked  up 
to  their  knees.  Gervaise  took  a  certain  pride  in  that  pleasant 
warmth,  and  attracted  people  to  call  on  her,  holding  daily 
receptions,  as  the  Lorilleux  and  the  Boches  spitefully 
remarked.  The  truth  was,  that  she  had  remained  ever  obliging 
and  charitable,  to  the  point  of  calling  in  poor  folks,  whenever 
she  saw  them  shivering  outside.  She  formed  a  particular 
friendship  for  a  worn-out  journeyman  painter,  an  old  man  of 
seventy,  who  hved  in  one  of  the  lofts  of  the  house,  where  he 
was  slowly  dying  of  hunger  and  cold.  He  had  lost  his  three 
sons  in  the  Crimea,  and  had  been  existing  as  best  he  could 
during  the  two  years  that  had  elapsed  since  he  had  last  been 
able  to  hold  a  paint-brush.  The  moment  Gervaise  beheld 
old  Bru  stamping  about  in  the  snow  to  warm  himself,  she 
would  call  him  in,  and  make  a  little  place  for  him  near  the 
stove ;  often  too,  she  would  force  him  to  eat  a  piece  of  bread 
and  cheese.  With  his  bent  frame,  his  white  beard,  and  his 
face  as  wrinkled  as  an  old  apple,  poor  Bru  would  remain  there 
for  hours,  never  uttering  a  word,  but  apparently  listening  to 
the  noise  made  by  the  burning  coke.  Perhaps,  however,  he 
was  recalling  his  fifty  years  of  work  perched  on  steps  and 
ladders,  the  half  century  which  he  had  spent  in  painting  doors 
and  whitewashing  ceilings  all  over  Paris. 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  177 

'Well!  old  Bru,'  the  laundress  would  sometimes  ask 
him,  *  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  ' 

*  Nothing  in  particular,  all  sorts  of  things,'  he  would  reply 
with  a  bewildered  air. 

Then  the  workwomen  chaffed  him,  saying  that  he  was  in 
love.  But  he,  -^^thout  hearing  them,  relapsed  into  silence, 
again  mournful  and  pensive. 

From  that  time  forward,  Virginie  frequently  spoke  to 
Gervaise  of  Lantier.  She  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  filling 
the  other's  mind  with  ideas  of  her  old  lover,  and  embarrassing 
her  by  the  suggestions  she  made.  One  day  she  related  that 
she  had  met  him  ;  then,  as  the  laundress  at  the  time  took  no 
notice,  she  said  nothing  further  till  the  morrow,  when  she 
added  that  he  had  spoken  about  her  at  great  length,  and  with 
much  show  of  affection.  Gervaise  was  quite  upset  by  these 
reports,  whispered  in  her  ear  in  a  corner  of  the  shop.  The  men- 
tion of  Lantier' s  name  always  gave  her  a  burning  sensation. 
She  certainly  thought  herself  strong-minded,  and  she  wished  to 
lead  the  life  of  a  virtuous  woman,  because  virtue  is  one  half  of 
happiness.  So  she  never  considered  Coupeau  in  this  matter, 
particularly  as  there  was  nothing,  not  even  a  thought,  to  give  her 
occasion  for  seK-reproach  as  regards  her  husband.  But,  with 
hesitating,  suffering  heart,  she  would  think  of  the  blacksmith. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  return  of  the  souvenir  of  Lantier, 
which  was  thus  slowly  besetting  and  mastering  her,  rendered 
her  unfaithful  to  Goujet,  to  that  unavowed  love  of  theirs  which 
was  as  sweet  as  friendship.  She  passed  sad  days  whenever  she 
felt  guilty  towards  her  good  friend.  She  woiidd  have  liked  to 
have  had  no  affection  for  any  but  him,  outside  of  her  family. 
It  was  a  feeling  far  above  all  carnal  thoughts,  such  as  Virginie 
was  ever  watching  for,  upon  her  burning  face. 

As  soon  as  spring  came,  Gervaise  went  to  seek  refuge 
beside  Goujet.  She  could  no  longer  sit  musing  on  a  chair 
without  immediately  thinking  of  her  first  lover  ;  she  pictured 
him  leaving  Adele,  packing  his  clothes  in  the  old  trunk,  and 
returning  to  her  with  the  trunk  outside  a  cab.  When  she 
went  out,  she  was  seized  with  the  most  foolish  fears  ;  she  was 
ever  imagining  that  she  heard  Lantier' s  footsteps  behind  her 
in  the  street.  She  did  not  dare  to  turn  round,  but  with  a 
tremble  fancied  that  she  felt  his  hands  clasping  her  round  the 
waist.  He  was,  no  doubt,  spying  upon  her  ;  he  would  appear 
before  her  some  afternoon  ;  and  the  bare  idea  of  this  threw 
her  into  a  cold  perspiration,  because  he  would  certainly  kiss 


178  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

her  on  the  ear,  as  he  had  so  often  done  in  former  days,  by 
way  of  teasing  her.  And  it  was  this  kiss  which  frightened 
her  ;  it  rendered  her  deaf  beforehand,  filled  her  with  a  buzzing 
amidst  which  she  could  distinguish  nothing  beyond  the 
violent  throbbing  of  her  heart.  And  directly  these  fears 
seized  upon  her,  the  forge  was  her  only  shelter ;  there,  under 
the  protection  of  Goujet,  whose  sonorous  hammer  drove 
all  her  evil  dreams  away,  she  once  more  felt  at  peace  and 
smiled. 

What  a  happy  time !  Gervaise  paid  particular  attention  to 
the  washing  of  her  customer  in  the  Rue  des  Portes-Blanches, 
and  always  took  it  home  herself,  as  this  errand  furnished 
a  ready  excuse  for  passing  through  the  Eue  Marcadet  and 
looking  in  at  the  forge  every  Friday.  Directly  she  turned  the 
corner  of  the  street,  she  felt  light  and  gay,  as  though,  amidst 
those  plots  of  vacant  land  interspersed  with  grey  factories,  she 
were  out  in  the  country.  The  roadway  black  with  coal-dust, 
the  plumage  of  steam  hovering  over  the  roofs  amused  her  as 
much  as  might  a  moss-covered  path  dipping  down  between 
large  clumps  of  verdure  in  some  woods  of  the  environs  of 
Paris.  And  she  loved  the  pale  horizon,  streaked  with  tall  fac- 
tory chimneys,  the  height  of  Montmartre,  which  hid  the 
heavens  from  view,  with  its  chalky  white  houses  uniformly 
riddled  with  windows.  Then  she  would  slacken  her  steps  as 
she  drew  near,  jumping  over  the  pools  of  water,  and  taking 
pleasure  in  threading  her  way  through  the  confusion  of  the 
deserted  yard  full  of  old  building  materials.  Right  at  the 
further  end  the  forge  shone  out,  even  at  mid-day.  Her 
heart  leapt  with  the  dance  of  the  hammers.  When  she  entered, 
her  face  turned  quite  red,  the  little  fair  ringlets  at  the  nape 
of  her  neck  flew  about  like  those  of  a  woman  keeping  some 
assignation.  Goujet,  his  arms  and  chest  bare,  was  expecting 
her,  hammering  yet  more  loudly  than  usual  in  order  that  he 
might  be  heard  still  further  away.  He  divined  her  presence, 
and  greeted  her  with  a  glad  silent  laugh  in  his  yellow  beard. 
But  she  would  not  let  him  quit  his  work  ;  she  begged  him  to 
take  up  his  hammer  again,  because  she  loved  him  the  more 
when  she  saw  him  wielding  it  with  his  great  arms  swollen 
with  muscles.  Then  she  would  go  and  give  Etienne  a  gentle 
tap  on  the  cheek,  as  he  hung  on  to  the  bellows,  and  after- 
wards would  remain  there  for  an  hour,  watching  the  rivets. 

The  two  did  not  exchange  a  dozen  words.  Yet  they  could 
not  have  more  completely  satisfied  their  love  had  the  greatest 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  179 

privacy  encompassed  them.  The  chuckles  of  Salted-Chops, 
otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst,  failed  to  disturb  them,  for 
they  no  longer  even  heard  them.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
Gervaise  would  begin  to  feel  somewhat  oppressed  ;  the  heat,  the 
powerful  smell,  the  rising  smoke  all  made  her  dizzy,  whilst 
the  dull  thud  of  the  hammers  shook  her  from  the  crown  of 
her  head  to  the  soles  of  her  feet.  And  then  she  desired 
nothing  more  ;  to  her  this  was  bliss.  She  drew  near  to  Goujet 
that  she  might  feel  the  rush  of  his  hammer  beat  upon  her 
cheek,  and  become,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  the  blow  he  struck. 
When  the  sparks  made  her  soft  hands  smart,  she  did  not  with- 
draw them  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  enjoyed  that  rain  of  fire 
which  stung  her  skin.  He,  for  certain,  divined  the  happiness 
she  tasted  there ;  he  would  reserve  his  most  difficult  work  for 
the  Fridays,  so  as  to  pay  her  court  with  all  his  strength  and 
all  his  skill ;  he  no  longer  spared  himself,  but  often  risked 
splitting  the  anvils  atwain,  panting  from  the  blows  he  dealt, 
and  vibrating  with  the  joy  he  was  procuring  her.  In  this 
wise  throughout  one  whole  spring-tide  their  love  filled  the 
forge  as  with  the  rumbling  of  a  storm.  It  was  an  idyl  amidst 
giant-like  labour,  amidst  the  glare  of  coal  and  the  shaking  of 
the  shed,  whose  carcass,  black  with  soot,  seemed  to  be  crack- 
ing. All  that  beaten  iron,  kneaded  like  red  wax,  bore  rough 
marks  of  their  love.  And  every  Friday  when  the  laundress 
parted  from  Golden-Mug,  she  slowly  reascended  the  Rue  des 
Poissonniers,  content  and  tired,  wuth  flesh  and  spirit  alike  at 
peace. 

Little  by  little  her  fear  of  Lantier  diminished,  and  she 
regained  her  usual  good  sense.  At  that  period  her  life  would 
still  have  been  a  very  happy  one  had  it  not  been  for  Coupeau, 
who  was  decidedly  going  to  the  bad.  One  day,  when  as  it  so 
happenedshe  was  just  returning  from  the  forge,  she  fancied  that 
she  recognised  Coupeau  inside  old  Colombe's  *  Assommoir,'  treat- 
ing himself  to  goes  of  *  vitriol '  in  the  company  of  My-Boots, 
Bibi-the- Smoker,  and  Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink-without- 
Thirst.  She  went  quickly  by,  in  order  to  avoid  all  appearance 
of  spying  on  them  ;  but  she  glanced  back  and  saw  that  it  was 
indeed  Coupeau  who  was  tossing  a  nip  of  bad  brandy  down 
his  throat  with  the  gesture  of  one  to  whom  such  a  practice  is 
already  familiar.  So  he  lied  then  ;  he  went  in  for  brandy  now  ! 
She  returned  home  in  despair  ;  all  her  old  dread  of  spirits  took 
possession  of  her  once  more.  Wine  she  forgave,  because  wine 
nourished  the  toiler,  whereas  spirits  were  filth,  poisons  which 

n2 


i8o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

robbed  men  of  all  appetite  for  bread.  Ah  !  the  government 
ought  to  have  prevented  the  manufacture  of  such  horrid 
stuff! 

On  reaching  the  Eue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  she  found  the 
whole  house  in  commotion.  Her  workwomen  had  left  the 
shop,  and  were  in  the  courtyard  looking  up  at  the  windows. 
She  questioned  Clemence.  *  It's  old  Bijard  who's  giving  his 
wife  a  hiding/  replied  the  ironer.  *  He  was  in  the  doorway,  as 
drunk  as  a  trooper,  watching  for  her  to  return  from  the  wash- 
house.  He  whacked  her  ail  the  way  upstairs,  and  now  he's 
finishing  her  off  m  their  room.  Listen  I  can't  you  hear  her 
shrieks  ? ' 

Gervaise  swiftly  climbed  the  stairs.  She  felt  some  friend- 
ship for  her  washerwoman,  Madame  Bijard,  who  was  a  very 
courageous  woman,  and  she  hoped  to  put  a  stop  to  what  was 
going  on.  Upstairs,  on  the  sixth  floor,  the  door  of  the  room 
stood  wide-open,  and  some  tenants  were  raising  exclamations 
on  the  landing,  whilst  Madame  Boche,  standing  at  the  door- 
way, called  out :  *  Will  you  leave  off  ?  Ill  send  for  the  poUce ; 
do  you  hear  me  ?  ' 

No  one  dared  to  venture  inside  the  room,  for  it  was  well 
known  that  Bijard  was  like  a  brute  beast  whenever  he  got 
drunk.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  never  really  sober.  On 
the  rare  days  on  which  he  worked  at  his  calhng  as  a  lock- 
smith, he  placed  a  bottle  of  brandy  beside  his  vice,  and  gulped 
down  some  of  it  every  half  hour.  He  could  no  longer  keep 
himself  going  by  any  other  means.  And  he  was  so  impregnated 
with  alcohol  that  lae  would  have  blazed  away  like  a  torch  if 
anyone  had  placed  a  lighted  match  near  his  mouth. 

'  But  we  mustn't  let  her  be  murdered  1 '  said  Gervaise,  all 
in  a  tremble. 

Then  she  entered  the  room.  It  was  an  attic,  very  clean, 
but  cold  and  bare,  almost  emptied  by  the  drunken  habits  of 
the  man,  who  took  the  very  sheets  from  the  bed  to  turn  them 
into  liquor.  During  the  struggle,  the  table  had  rolled  away 
to  the  window,  and  the  two  chairs  had  fallen  with  their  legs  in 
the  air.  In  the  middle  of  the  room,  on  the  tiled  floor,  lay 
Madame  Bijard,  all  bloody,  her  skirts  still  soaked  with  water 
from  the  wash-house,  her  hair  pulled  out  by  the  roots.  She 
was  gasping,  venting  prolonged  moans,  oh  I  oh  !  oh  1  each 
time  that  she  received  a  blow  from  the  heel  of  Bijard's  boot. 
He  had  knocked  her  down  with  his  fists,  and  now  he  stamped 
upon  her. 


THE  SHADOWS  FALL  i8i 

*  Ah,  hussy  I  ah,  hussy  !  ah,  hussy  I  *  he  grunted  in  a 
choking  voice,  each  time  that  he  dealt  a  blow,  maddening  him- 
self by  constant  repetition  of  the  epithet,  and  striking  all  the 
harder  as  he  gradually  found  his  voice  failing  him. 

And,  when  he  could  no  longer  speak,  he  went  on  kicking 
passionately,  rigid  in  his  ragged  blue  blouse  and  over-alls,  his 
face  purpling  beneath  his  dirty  beard,  and  his  bald  forehead 
showing  big  red  blotches.  The  neighbours  on  the  landing 
related  that  he  was  beating  his  wife  because  she  had  refused 
him  twenty  sous  in  the  morning.  However,  Boche's  voice  was 
heard  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  He  was  calling  Madame 
Boche,  saying :  •  Come  down  ;  come  down  ;  let  'em  kill  each 
other,  it'll  be  so  much  scum  the  less.' 

However,  old  Bru  had  followed  Gervaise  into  the  room. 
Between  them,  they  tried  to  bring  the  locksmith  to  reason, 
and  get  him  towards  the  door.  But  he  turned  round,  speech- 
less, with  foaming  lips,  while  in  his  pale  eyes  alcohol  was 
flaring  into  a  murderous  glare.  The  laundress  had  her  wrist 
injured ;  the  old  workman  was  knocked  upon  the  table.  On 
the  floor,  Madame  Bijard  lay  breathing  with  greater  difficulty, 
her  mouth  wide-open  and  her  eyes  closed.  And  now  Bijard 
kept  on  missing  her.  Though  he  ever  desperately  returned  to 
the  attack,  his  blows  failed  to  reach  her,  frenzied,  blinded 
as  he  was,  launching  buffets  into  space,  and,  as  his  arm  swung 
round,  striking  himself.  And,  throughout  this  murderous  on- 
slaught, Gervaise  saw  in  the  corner  of  the  room  little  Lalie, 
now  four  years  old,  who  was  watching  her  father  murdering 
her  mother.  The  child  held  in  her  arms,  as  if  by  way  of  pro- 
tection, her  sister,  Henriette,  who  had  only  recently  been 
weaned.  And  she  stood  there  erect,  her  head  covered  with  a 
little  cotton  cap,  her  face  very  pale  and  grave.  Her  large  black 
eyes  gazed  upon  the  scene  with  a  fixedness  full  of  thought,  and 
without  a  tear. 

When  at  length  Bijard,  encountering  a  chair,  stumbled 
upon  the  tiled  floor,  where  they  left  him  snoring,  old  Bru 
helped  Gervaise  to  raise  Madame  Bijard.  The  latter  was 
now  sobbing  bitterly  ;  and  Lalie,  drawing  near,  watched  her 
weep,  like  one  accustomed  to  the  sight  and  already  resigned  to 
it.  As  the  laundress  descended  the  stairs,  amidst  the  silence 
of  the  quieted  house,  she  could  still  see  before  her  the  glance 
of  that  Uttle  child — a  glance  as  grave  and  courageous  as  that 
of  a  woman. 

'  Monsieur  Coupeau's  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,'  called 


i82  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

out  Glemence,  as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  Gervaise.    *  He 
looks  awfully  screwed.' 

Coupeau  was  just  then  crossing  the  street.  He  almost 
smashed  a  pane  of  glass  with  his  shoulder  as  he  missed  the 
door.  He  was  in  a  *  white  drunk,'  with  teeth  clinched  and 
nose  drawn.  And  by  the  pallor  of  his  skin,  due  to  the  poison- 
ing of  his  blood,  Gervaise  at  once  recognised  the  work  of  the 
*  vitriol '  of  the  '  Assommoir.'  Nevertheless,  she  tried  to  joke 
and  get  him  to  bed,  as  on  the  days  when  wine  had  made  him 
merry  ;  but  he  pushed  her  aside,  without  opening  his  lips,  and 
raised  his  fist  at  her,  as  of  his  own  accord  he  lurched  towards 
his  bed.  He  was  like  the  other — the  drunkard  who  was  snor- 
ing upstairs,  tired  out  by  the  blows  he  had  dealt.  Then  Ger- 
vaise became  icy  cold,  and  thinking  of  the  men  she  knew — of 
her  husband,  of  Goujet,  of  Lantier— she  felt  as  it  were  a  gash 
in  her  heart,  and  despaired  of  ever  finding  happiness. 


vn 

THE  FEAST  AND  THE  SKELETON 

Geevaise's  saint's  day  fell  on  June  19.  On  all  such  festivals 
the  Coupeaus'  spared  nothing ;  there  were  junketings,  from 
which  they  rose  as  round  as  balls,  with  their  stomachs  filled 
for  the  rest  of  the  week.  And  there  was  a  complete  clear  out 
of  all  the  money  they  had.  Directly  they  happened  to  have  a 
little  cash  in  the  house,  it  went  in  gorging.  They  even 
invented  saints  for  those  days  which  the  almanac  had  not 
provided  with  any,  in  order  to  give  themselves  a  pretext  for 
gormandizing.  Virginie  highly  commended  Gervaise  for 
treating  herself  to  savoury  dishes.  When  a  woman  has  a 
husband  who  turns  all  that  he  can  lay  hands  on  into  drink, 
it's  as  well  for  her  to  line  her  stomach  to  begin  with,  so  that 
everything,  at  all  events,  shall  not  go  ofi  in  liquor.  As  the 
money  was  bound  to  be  spent  it  might  just  as  well  go  to  the 
butcher  as  to  the  publican.  Gervaise,  already  fond  of  good 
living,  abandoned  herself  to  that  excuse.  So  much  the  worse  ! 
It  was  Coupeau's  fault  if  they  no  longer  even  saved  a  copper. 
She  had  now  grown  yet  stouter,  and  limped  more  than  ever, 
for  her  leg  swelling  with  fat  seemed  to  get  shorter  at  the  same 
time. 

That  year,  they  talked  about  her  saint's  day  a  good  month 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        183 

beforehand.  They  thought  of  dishes,  and  smacked  their  Hps 
in  advance.  The  whole  shop  longed  for  a  spread.  They 
wanted  a  merry-making  of  the  right  sort — something  out  of 
the  common,  and  well  arranged,  for  one  doesn't  have  an 
opportunity  for  enjoyment  every  day.  What  most  troubled 
the  laundress  was  to  decide  whom  she  should  invite:  she 
wished  to  have  twelve  persons  at  table,  no  more,  no  less.  She, 
her  husband,  Mother  Coupeau,  and  Madame  Lerat,  already 
made  four,  without  going  out  of  the  family.  Then  she  must 
have  the  Goujets  and  the  Poissons.  At  the  outset  she 
had  decided  that  she  would  not  invite  her  workwomen,  Madame 
Putois  and  Clemence,  for  fear  of  making  them  too  familiar ; 
but,  as  the  projected  feast  was  continually  spoken  of  in  their 
presence,  and  they  began  to  pull  very  long  faces,  she  ended  by 
telling  them  to  come.  Four  and  four  made  eight,  and  two 
made  ten.  Then  as  Gervaise  particularly  wished  to  complete 
the  dozen,  she  became  reconciled  with  the  Lorilleux,  who,  for 
some  time  past,  had  been  hovering  round  her  ;  at  least,  it  was 
agreed  that  the  chain-makers  should  come  down  to  the  dinner, 
and  that  peace  should  there  be  made,  glass  in  hand.  After  all, 
one  cannot  remain  for  ever  on  ill  terms  with  one's  relations. 
Besides,  the  thought  of  the  feast  moved  every  heart.  It  was 
an  opportunity  which  one  could  not  allow  to  shp.  It  happened, 
however,  that  when  the  Boches  heard  of  the  projected 
reconciliation,  they  likewise  made  up  to  Gervaise  with  great 
politeness  and  the  most  obliging  smiles  ;  so  that  it  became 
necessary  to  invite  them  also  to  the  feast.  Thus  they  would 
be  fourteen  at  table,  without  counting  the  children.  Never 
before  had  Gervaise  given  such  a  dinner ;  the  mere  idea  of  it 
filled  her  with  feelings  of  mingled  dismay  and  triumph. 

The  saint's  day  happened  to  fall  on  a  Monday,  which  was 
a  piece  of  luck.  Gervaise  could  profit  by  the  Sunday  after- 
noon to  begin  her  cooking.  On  the  Saturday,  whilst  the 
ironers  hurried  on  with  their  work,  there  was  a  long  discussion 
in  the  shop  as  to  what  the  feast  should  really  consist  of  after 
all.  During  the  past  three  weeks,  one  thing  alone  had  been 
chosen — a  fat  roast  goose,  which  they  talked  about  with 
gluttonous  eyes.  And  indeed  the  goose  was  already  bought. 
Mother  Coupeau  went  to  fetch  it,  in  order  that  Clemence  and 
Madame  Putois  might  feel  its  weight.  And  they  gave  vent  to 
all  kinds  of  exclamations ;  it  looked  such  an  enormous  bird, 
with  its  rough  skin  distended  by  yellow  fat. 

*  Before  that  there  will  be  the  jpot-au-feuy   said  Gervaise, 


i84  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

'the  soup  and  just  a  small  piece  of  tlie  boiled  beef  are 
always  good.  Then  we  must  have  something  in  the  way  of  a 
stew.' 

Tall  Cl^mence  suggested  rabbit,  but  they  were  always 
having  rabbit,  everyone  was  sick  of  it.  Gervaise  wanted 
something  more  distingui.  Then,  on  Madame  Putois  speaking 
of  some  veal  blanquette,  they  looked  at  one  another  with 
expansive  smiles.  That  was  a  first  rate  idea,  nothing  would 
look  better  than  veal  blanquette.^ 

*  And  after  that,'  resumed  Gervaise,  'we  must  have  some 
other  dish  with  a  sauce.' 

Mother  Coupeau  proposed  fish.  But  the  others  made  a 
grimace,  as  they  banged  down  their  irons.  None  of  them 
liked  fish,  it  wasn't  a  bit  satisfying  ;  and  besides,  it  was  full  of 
bones.  Squint-eyed  Augustine  having  dared  to  observe  that 
she  liked  skate,  Clemence  shut  her  mouth  for  her  with  a  clout. 
At  length,  the  mistress  had  just  thought  of  some  chine  of 
pork  and  potatoes,  which  had  made  every  countenance  beam 
once  more,  when  Virginie  entered  like  a  puff  of  wind  and  with 
quite  an  excited  look  on  her  face. 

'  You've  come  at  the  right  moment  I '  exclaimed  Gervaise, 
*  Mother  Coupeau,  do  show  her  the  bird.' 

Mother  Coupeau  went  a  second  time  to  fetch  the  goose, 
which  Virginie  had  to  take  in  her  hands.  0  lor  I  it  was 
heavy  1  she  exclaimed ;  but  she  soon  laid  it  down  on  the 
work-table,  between  a  petticoat  and  a  bundle  of  shifts,  for  her 
thoughts  were  elsewhere.  And  she  led  Gervaise  into  the  back- 
room. 

*I  say,  little  one,*  she  murmured  rapidly,  *  I've  come  to 
warn  you.  You'll  never  guess  who  it  was  that  I  just  met  at 
the  street  corner.  Lantier,  my  dear  !  He's  prowling  about  on 
the  watch  ;  so  I  hastened  here  at  once.  It  frightened  me  on 
your  account,  you  know.' 

The  laundress  turned  quite  pale.  What  could  the  wretched 
man  want  with  her  ?  Coming,  too,  like  that,  just  in  the  midst 
of  the  preparations  for  the  feast.  She  never  had  any  luck  ; 
people  could  not  even  allow  her  to  enjoy  herself  quietly.  But 
Virginie  replied  that  she  was  very  foolish  to  put  herself  out 
like  that.  Why,  if  Lantier  should  dare  to  follow  her  about,  she 
need  merely  call  a  pohceman  and  have  him  locked  up.     For  a 

•  Veal  chopped  into  small  pieces,  and  stewed  with  onions,  with  a  light 
yellow  sauce,  coloured  with  the  yolks  of  eggs,  thickened  with  flour,  and 
garnished  with  mushrooms. 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        185 

month  past,  ever  since  her  husband  had  been  admitted  into 
the  police  force,  the  tall  brunette  had  assumed  the  most 
cavalier  ways,  and  was  always  talking  of  having  people 
arrested.  As  she  raised  her  voice  to  express  the  wish  that 
some  one  might  accost  her  in  the  street  just  to  give  her 
the  opportunity  of  dragging  the  scoundrel  to  the  station-house 
and  handing  him  over  to  Poisson,  Gervaise,  by  a  sign,  begged 
her  to  leave  off,  because  the  workwomen  were  listening.  The 
laundress  was  the  first  to  return  to  the  shop,  on  entering 
which  she  resumed,  with  a  great  pretence  of  calmness  :  *  After 
that,  there  must  be  a  dish  of  vegetables.' 

*  What  do  you  say  to  green  peas  with  a  little  fat  bacon  ?  * 
asked  Virginie.     *  That's  what  I'd  have.' 

*  Yes,  yes,  green  peas  and  bacon  I  '  approved  all  the  others, 
whilst  Augustine  enthusiastically  rammed  the  poker  into  the 
stove. 

By  three  o'clock  on  the  morrow,  Sunday,  Mother  Coupeau 
had  lighted  both  stoves,  as  well  as  a  third  one  of  earthenware 
borrowed  of  the  Boches.  At  half-past  three  the pot-au-feu  was 
boiling  away  in  a  huge  earthenware  pot  lent  by  the  eating- 
house  keeper  next  door,  the  family  pot  having  been  found  too 
small.  It  had  been  decided  to  cook  the  veal  and  the  chine 
beforehand,  because  those  dishes  are  best  when  warmed  up  ; 
only,  they  would  not  thicken  the  sauce  for  the  veal  until  the 
dinner-hour.  There  would  still  be  quite  enough  to  attend  to 
on  the  Monday — the  soup,  the  peas  and  bacon  and  the  roast 
goose.  The  room  behind  the  shop  was  quite  illumined  by  the 
three  fires  which  were  kept  going  ;  the  meats  lay  browning  in 
the  stew-pans  amidst  a  strong  smell  of  burnt  flour,  whilst  the 
huge  earthenware  pot  threw  up  jets  of  steam  like  a  boiler,  its 
sides  shaking  the  while  with  grave,  deep  gurglings.  Mother 
Coupeau  and  Gervaise,  each  wearing  a  white  apron,  were  here, 
there,  and  everywhere,  now  picking  parsley,  now  running  after 
pepper  and  salt,  and  now  stirring  the  meat  with  a  wooden 
spoon.  Coupeau  had  been  turned  out  of  doors,  so  that  he 
should  not  be  in  their  way.  But  all  the  same  they  had  people 
bothering  them  throughout  the  afternoon.  The  cooking  smelt 
so  nice  in  the  house,  that  the  neighbours  came  down  one  after 
the  other,  looking  in  under  all  sorts  of  pretences,  though  in 
reality  merely  to  find  out  what  dishes  were  being  prepared  ; 
and  they  stationed  themselves  there,  waiting  so  long  that  the 
laundress  was  obliged  to  take  the  lids  off  the  stew-pans. 

Then,  Virginie  put  in  an  appearance  towards  five  o'clock. 


i86  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

She  had  again  seen  Lantier  ;  it  was  now  really  impossible  to 
go  down  the  street  without  meeting  him.  Madame  Boche 
also  had  just  caught  sight  of  him  standing  at  a  corner  with  his 
head  thrust  forward  in  an  uncommonly  sly  manner.  At  this 
Gervaise,  who  had  just  meant  to  run  out  for  a  sou's  worth  of 
burnt  onions  for  the  ])ot-a%i-feu,  began  to  tremble  from  head  to 
foot,  and  did  not  dare  to  leave  the  house,  particularly  as  the 
doorkeeper  and  the  dressmaker  put  her  into  a  terrible  fright 
by  relating  horrible  stories  of  men  waiting  for  women  with 
knives  and  pistols  hidden  beneath  their  overcoats.  Well,  yes, 
one  read  of  such  things  every  day  in  the  newspapers.  When 
one  of  those  scoundrels  got  his  monkey  up,  on  discovering  an 
old  love  leading  a  happy  life,  he  became  capable  of  anything. 
However,  Virginie  obligingly  offered  to  run  and  fetth  the  burnt 
onions.  Women,  said  she,  should  always  help  one  another, 
and  they  could  not  let  that  poor  little  thing  be  murdered. 
When  she  returned  she  said  that  Lantier  was  no  longer  there  ; 
he  had  probably  gone  off  on  finding  that  he  was  discovered. 
All  the  same  he  remained  the  subject  of  conversation  around 
the  saucepans  until  night-time.  Madame  Boche  having 
suggested  that  Coupeau  ought  to  be  informed  of  what  was 
going  on,  Gervaise  was  overcome  with  a  great  fear  and 
implored  her  never  to  say  a  word  on  the  subject.  Ah  I  no 
indeed,  it  could  only  lead  to  terrible  trouble  I  Her  husband 
probably  had  some  suspicions  already,  as,  for  some  days  past, 
he  had  taken  to  swearing  and  striking  the  wall  with  his  fist, 
on  getting  into  bed.  Gervaise  stood  there  with  trembling 
hands  at  the  idea  that  the  two  men  might  kill  each  other  for 
her ;  she  knew  Coupeau,  he  was  jealous  enough  to  fall  on 
Lantier  with  his  shears.  While  all  four  women  in  this  wise 
became  absorbed  in  the  prospective  tragedy,  the  sauces 
continued  simmering  on  the  ash-covered  fires.  Each  time 
that  Mother  Coupeau  took  the  lids  off  the  veal  and  chine,  there 
came  from  them  a  faint  sound,  a  discreet  murmur ;  while  the 
pot-au-feu  went  on  with  its  gurgling  refrain,  which  resembled 
the  snore  of  a  choir-man  asleep  on  his  back  in  the  sunshine. 
They  ended  by  each  having  a  cupful  of  broth,  just  in  order  to 
taste  it. 

At  length  the  Monday  arrived.  Now  that  Gervaise  was 
going  to  have  fourteen  persons  at  table,  she  began  to  fear 
that  she  would  nob  be  able  to  find  room  for  them  all.  She 
decided  that  they  would  dine  in  the  shop  ;  and  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning,  she  took  measurements  so  as  to  settle  which  wa;y 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        187 

she  should  place  the  table.  After  that,  it  became  necessary  to 
reniove  all  the  clothes  which  lay  about,  and  take  the  ironing- 
table  to  pieces ;  its  top,  laid  on  some  shorter  trestles,  was  to 
serve  as  dining- table.  However,  in  the  very  midst  of  all 
this  moving,  a  customer  appeared  and  made  a  scene  because 
she  had  been  waiting  for  her  washing  ever  since  Friday ; 
they  were  humbugging  her,  she  declared,  and  she  would  have 
her  things  at  once  !  Then  Gervaise,  in  order  to  excuse  her- 
self, boldly  lied ;  it  was  not  her  fault,  she  was  cleaning  out 
her  shop,  and  her  workwomen  would  not  return  till  the  next 
day ;  and  at  last  she  got  rid  of  her  pacified  customer,  by  pro- 
mising to  attend  to  her  things  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment  on  the  morrow.  As  soon  as  the  other  had  gone, 
however,  the  laundress  burst  into  angry  language.  Why, 
if  one  listened  to  one's  customers,  one  would  never  even  have 
time  to  eat ;  one  would  work  oneself  to  death,  just  to  please 
them  I  But  she,  at  all  events,  wasn't  a  chained  dog  !  Ah, 
well !  even  if  the  Grand  Turk  in  person  were  to  bring  her  a 
collar,  even  if  it  were  a  question  of  earning  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  she  wouldn't  handle  an  iron  that  Monday, 
for  it  was  at  last  her  turn  to  enjoy  herself  a  little. 

The  entire  morning  was  spent  in  completing  the  pur- 
chases. Three  times  Gervaise  went  out  and  returned  laden 
like  a  mule.  But,  just  as  she  was  going  to  order  the  wine,  she 
noticed  that  she  had  not  sufficient  money  left.  She  could 
easily  have  got  the  wine  on  credit ;  only  she  could  not  be 
without  money  in  the  house,  on  account  of  the  thousand 
little  expenses  which  it  is  impossible  to  foresee.  And  Mother 
Coupeau  and  she  lamented  together  in  the  back-room,  as  they 
reckoned  up  that  they  would  at  least  require  another  twenty 
francs.  How  could  they  obtain  four  pieces  of  a  hundred 
sous  ?  Mother  Coupeau,  who  had  at  one  time  been  house- 
keeper to  a  little  actress  of  the  Batignolles  theatre,  was  the 
first  to  suggest  the  pawn-shop.  Gervaise  laughed  with 
relief.  How  stupid  of  her  not  to  have  thought  of  it !  Then 
she  quickly  folded  up  her  black  silk  dress,  pinned  a  towel 
over  it,  and  hid  the  parcel  under  Mother  Coupeau's  apron, 
telling  her  to  keep  it  flat  against  her  stomach,  on  account  of 
the  neighbours  who  had  no  need  to  know  what  her  errand 
was.  And  afterwards  she  even  went  to  the  door,  to  make 
sure  that  the  old  woman  was  not  followed.  But  the  latter 
was  not  yet  opposite  the  charcoal-dealer's,  when  she  called 
her  back.     *  Mamma  !  mamma  !  ' 


i88  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

She  made  ber  enter  the  shop  again,  and  then  takmg  her 
wedding  ring  from  her  finger,  said  :  *  Here,  put  this  with  it. 
We  shall  get  all  the  more.' 

When  Mother  Coupeau  retm'ned,  bringing  twenty-five 
francs,  Gervaise  danced  for  joy.  She  would  order  six  more 
bottles  of  wine,  sealed  wine,  to  drink  with  the  roast.  The 
Lorilleux  would  be  crushed. 

For  a  fortnight  past  it  had  been  the  Coupeaus'  dream  to 
crush  the  Lorilleux.  Was  it  not  true  that  those  sly-boots, 
man  and  wife,  a  truly  pretty  couple,  shut  themselves  up 
whenever  they  had  anything  nice  to  eat,  just  as  though 
they  had  stolen  it  ?  Yes,  they  covered  up  the  window  with  a 
blanket  to  hide  the  light,  and  make  believe  that  they  were 
asleep  in  bed.  Of  course  that  prevented  people  from  going 
up  to  call  on  them ;  and  they  stuffed  away  all  alone, 
cramming  themselves  with  the  greatest  haste,  and  never 
venturing  to  speak  a  word  aloud.  Moreover,  on  the  morrow 
they  were  too  cunning  to  throw  the  scraps  and  bones 
remaining  from  their  repast  on  the  dust-heap,  as  others  would 
then  have  known  what  it  was  they  had  eaten  ;  no,  indeed, 
Madame  Lorilleux  went  to  the  end  of  the  street  and  threw 
the  remnants  dov/n  a  sewer  opening ;  one  morning  Gervaise 
had  caught  her  there  emptying  a  basket  full  of  oyster-shells. 
Ah  !  it  was  quite  certain  that  those  skinflints  were  not 
broad-shouldered  ;  all  those  artful  tricks  of  theirs  came  from 
their  mania  for  wishing  to  appear  poor.  Well !  one  would 
give  them  a  lesson,  and  show  them  that  others  were  not 
mean.  Gervaise  would  have  laid  her  table  across  the  street, 
had  she  been  able  to  do  so,  just  for  the  sake  of  inviting  each 
passer-by.  Money  had  not  been  invented  that  it  should  be 
allowed  to  grow  mouldy.  It  was  pretty  when  it  shone  all 
new  in  the  sunlight.  Gervaise  resembled  the  Lorilleux  so 
little  now,  that  whenever  she  had  a  few  francs  in  her  pocket 
she  so  arranged  things  as  to  let  people  think  that  she  had 
double  the  amount. 

Mother  Coupeau  and  she  talked  of  the  Lorilleux,  whilst 
laying  the  cloth,  which  they  did  as  early  as  three  o'clock. 
They  had  hung  some  big  curtains  at  the  windows ;  but,  as 
it  was  very  warm,  the  door  was  left  open,  and  every  passer-by 
could  see  the  table.  The  two  women  did  not  place  a 
decanter,  or  a  bottle,  or  a  salt-cellar,  without  trying  to  do  so 
in  such  a  way  as  to  annoy  the  Lorilleux.  They  had 
arranged  the  latter' s  seats  so  as  to  give  them  a  full  view  of 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        189 

the  superbly  laid  cloth,  and  had  reserved  the  best  crockery 
for  them,  well  knowing  that  the  porcelain  plates  would  create 
a  great  effect. 

'  No,  no,  mamma,'  exclaimed  Gervaise  ;  *  don't  give  them 
those  napkins  !     I've  two  damask  ones  here  ! ' 

'  Ah  well  I '  murmured  the  old  woman  ;  '  it'll  all  kill  'em, 
that's  certain/ 

And  they  smiled  at  each  other  as  they  stood  on  either 
side  of  that  big  white  table,  their  hearts  swelling  with  pride 
at  sight  of  the  fourteen  covers  laid  all  around.  The  table 
looked  indeed  like  some  altar  erected  in  the  middle  of  the 
shop. 

*  Well,  but  why  are  they  so  stingy  ?  '  resumed  Gervaise. 
'You  know  they  lied  last  month,  when  the  woman  went 
about  everywhere  saying  that  she  had  lost  a  piece  of  gold 
chain  as  she  was  taking  the  work  home.  The  idea  indeed  ! 
there's  no  fear  of  her  ever  losing  anything  !  K  was  simply  a 
dodge  to  cry  poverty  and  escape  giving  you  your  five 
francs.' 

*  I've  only  seen  my  five  francs  twice  as  yet,'  said  Mother 
Coupeau. 

'  Next  month  they'll  concoct  some  other  story,  you  bet ! 
That  explains  why  they  cover  their  window  up  when  they 
have  a  rabbit  to  eat.  Of  course  one  would  have  the  right  to 
say  to  them  :  *'  As  you  can  afford  to  dine  off  rabbit,  you  can 
certainly  give  five  francs  to  your  mother  ?  "  Oh  !  they're  full 
of  vice  !  Whatever  would  have  become  of  you  if  I  hadn't  taken 
you  to  live  with  us  ?  ' 

Mother  Coupeau  slowly  wagged  her  head.  That  day  she 
was  all  against  the  Lorilleux,  because  of  the  great  feast 
which  the  Coupeaus  were  giving.  She  loved  the  bustle  of 
cooking,  the  gossiping  round  the  saucepans,  the  topsy- 
turvydom occasioned  by  the  revels  of  saints'  days.  Besides, 
she  generally  got  on  pretty  well  with  Gervaise ;  though 
every  now  and  then,  when  they  plagued  one  another,  as 
happens  in  aU  families,  the  old  woman  would  grumble, 
saying  that  she  was  wretchedly  unfortunate  to  be  thus  placed 
at  her  daughter-in-law's-mercy.  At  bottom,  she  probably 
retained  a  sneaking  affection  for  Madame  Lorilleux,  who, 
after  all,  was  her  daughter. 

*  Ah  I '  continued  Gervaise,  *  you  wouldn't  be  so  fat, 
would  you,  if  you  were  living  with  them  ?    And  no  coffee,  no 


190  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

snuff,  no  little  luxuries  of  any  sort !  Tell  me  now,  would 
they  have  given  you  two  mattresses  to  your  bed  ?  ' 

*  No,  that's  very  certain,'  rephed  Mother  Coupeau. 
*  When  they  come  down  I  shall  place  myself  so  as  to  have 
ft  good  view  of  the  doorway,  to  see  what  faces  they  make.' 

The  idea  of  the  faces  which  the  Lorilleux  would  make 
amused  them  beforehand.  But  it  would  never  do  to  remain 
there  looking  at  the  table.  The  Coupeaus  had  lunched  late, 
about  one  o'clock,  off  something  which  they  had  procured 
from  the  pork-butcher's,  because  the  three  stoves  were  already 
occupied,  and  they  did  not  wish  to  dirty  the  crockery,  which 
had  already  been  cleaned  for  the  evening.  At  four  o'clock 
the  two  women  were  at  the  height  of  their  work.  The  goose 
was  cooking  before  a  roasting  stove  set  on  the  floor  against 
the  wall  beside  an  open  window ;  and  the  bird  was  so  big 
that  they  had  been  obliged  to  force  it  into  the  roaster.  Squint- 
eyed  Augustine,  seated  on  a  footstool,  with  the  fire  of  the 
stove  shining  full  on  her  face,  was  gravely  bastmg  the  goose 
with  a  long-handled  spoon.  Gervaise  meantime  busied 
herself  with  the  green  peas  and  bacon,  while  Mother  Coupeau, 
nearly  crazy  amidst  all  these  dishes,  turned  from  one  to  the 
other,  pending  the  time  to  warm  up  the  chine  and  the  stewed 
veal. 

Towards  five  o'clock  the  guests  began  to  arrive.  First  of 
all  came  the  two  workwomen,  Clemence  and  Madame  Putois, 
both  in  their  Sunday  best,  the  former  in  blue,  the  latter  in 
black ;  Clemence  carried  a  geranium,  and  Madame  Putois  a 
heliotrope  ;  and  Gervaise,  whose  hands  were  just  then 
smothered  with  flour,  had  to  kiss  each  of  them  on  both 
cheeks,  with  her  arms  behind  her  back.  Then,  close  in  the 
rear,  came  Virginie,  dressed  like  a  lady  in  a  printed  muslin 
costume  with  a  sash  and  a  bonnet,  though  she  had  but  a  few 
steps  to  walk.  She  brought  with  her  a  pot  of  red  carnations, 
took  the  laundress  in  her  big  arms  and  squeezed  her  tightly. 
At  length  appeared  Boche,  with  a  pot  of  pansies,  Madame 
Boche  with  a  pot  of  mignonette,  and  Madame  Lerat  with  one 
of  balm-mint,  the  soil  of  which  had  dirted  her  violet  merino 
dress.  And  all  these  people  kissed  and  crowded  together  in 
the  back  room  amidst  the  three  stoves  and  the  roasting 
apparatus,  whence  ascended  a  stifling  heat.  The  frizzling 
which  arose  from  the  stew-pans  drowned  all  the  chatter. 
The  flapping  of  a  dress  against  the  roaster  caused  much 
emotion.    The  smell  of  roast  goose  was  so  strong  that  every 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        191 

mouth  watered.  And  Gervaise  showed  herself  extremely 
amiable,  and  thanked  them  all  for  their  flowers,  whilst  still 
preparing  the  thickening  for  the  veal  blanquette  in  a  soup 
plate.  She  had  already  placed  the  flower  pots  at  one  end  of 
the  table  in  the  shop  without  removing  the  white  paper 
that  enveloped  them,  and  now  a  sweet  floral  perfume  mingled 
with  the  odour  of  cooking. 

*  Do  you  want  any  assistance  ? '  asked  Virginie.  *  When  I 
think  that  you've  been  three  days  preparing  all  this  feast, 
which  will  be  gobbled  up  in  no  time  ! ' 

*  Well !  you  know,'  replied  Gervaise,  *  it  wouldn't  prepare 
itself.  But  no,  don't  dirty  your  hands.  You  see,  every- 
thing's ready  now.     There's  only  the  soup  to  warm.' 

Then  they  all  made  themselves  at  home.  The  ladies 
laid  their  shawls  and  caps  on  the  bed,  and  pinned  up  their 
skirts,  in  order  not  to  soil  them.  Boche,  who  had  sent 
his  wife  back  to  look  after  the  house  until  dinner-time, 
was  already  pushing  Clemence  into  a  corner,  and  asking  her 
if  she  were  ticklish ;  whilst  Clemence  panted  and  wriggled 
and  doubled  herself  up  in  alarm,  for  the  bare  idea  of  being 
tickled  made  her  shudder.  However,  the  other  ladies  also 
came  into  the  shop,  so  as  not  to  be  in  the  way  of  the  cooks, 
and,  ranging  themselves  against  the  wall,  began  to  look  at 
the  table  ;  but,  as  the  conversation  continued  through  the 
open  doorway,  and  they  were  unable  to  hear  the  laundress, 
they  kept  on  returning  to  the  room,  filling  it  with  their  loud 
voices,  and  surrounding  Gervaise,  who,  with  her  steaming 
spoon  in  her  hand,  paused  in  her  work  to  answer  them. 
They  laughed  and  said  some  rather  coarse  things.  Virginie 
stated  that  she  had  eaten  nothing  for  two  days,  in  order  to 
have  plenty  of  room,  and  Boche  declared  that  the  best  way 
to  stimulate  digestion  was  to  squeeze  oneself  between  the 
door  and  the  door-post  after  each  plateful :  for  this,  said  he, 
was  what  the  English  did,  and  it  enabled  them  to  gorge  for 
twelve  hours  at  a  stretch,  without  fatiguing  their  stomachs. 
Besides,  politeness  requires  one  to  eat  plentifully  when  one 
is  invited  out  to  dinner  ;  veal  and  pork  and  goose  are  not  put 
on  a  table  for  cats.  Oh  I  Gervaise  might  make  herself  easy  ; 
they  would  polish  everything  oif  so  cleanly  that  she  would 
have  no  need  to  wash  up  the  crockery  on  the  morrow.  And 
the  guests  seemed  to  be  getting  up  their  appetites  by  sniiOf- 
ing  round  the  saucepans  and  the  roaster.  The  ladies, 
however,  ended  by  behaving  like  little  girls ;  they  played  at 


192  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

pushing  one  another  about,  running  from  one  apartment  to 
the  other,  shaking  the  floor,  stirring  and  disseminating  all 
the  smell  of  cookery  with  their  skirts,  amidst  a  deafening 
uproar,  in  which  their  laughter  mingled  with  the  tapping  of 
Mother  Coupeau's  chopping  knife  as  she  cut  up  some  bacon 
for  the  peas. 

Just  as  they  were  all  jumping  and  shouting  by  way  of 
amusement,  Goujet  made  his  appearance.  He  was  so  timid 
that  he  scarcely  dared  to  enter,  but  stood  in  the  doorway, 
holding  a  tall  white  rose  bush  in  his  arms,  a  magnificent 
plant,  with  a  stem  that  reached  to  his  face,  while  the  flowers 
mingled  with  his  beard.  Gervaise  ran  up  to  him,  her  cheeks 
aflame  from  the  heat  of  the  stoves ;  but  he  did  not  know  how 
to  get  rid  of  his  pot ;  and,  when  she  had  taken  it  from  him 
he  began  to  stammer,  not  daring  to  kiss  her.  It  was  she  who 
was  obliged  to  stand  on  tip-toe,  and  place  her  cheek  against 
his  lips  ;  and  even  then  he  was  so  agitated  that  he  kissed  her 
roughly  on  the  eye,  almost  blinding  her.  They  both  stood 
trembling. 

*  Oh  !  Monsieur  Goujet,  it's  too  lovely ! '  said  she,  plac- 
ing the  rose-tree  beside  the  other  flowers,  which  it  overtopped 
with  its  spreading  tuft  of  foliage. 

*  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,'  he  repeated,  unable  to  say  any- 
thing else. 

However,  after  sighing  deeply,  he  recovered  a  little  of  his 
Belf-possession,  and  told  her  that  she  was  not  to  expect  his 
mother,  who  was  suffering  from  one  of  her  periodical  attacks 
of  sciatica.  Gervaise  was  greatly  grieved  to  hear  this,  and 
talked  of  putting  a  piece  of  goose  on  one  side,  as  she  par- 
ticularly wished  Madame  Goujet  to  taste  the  bird.  Then  she 
spoke  of  Coupeau,  who  was  no  doubt  strolling  about  the 
neighbourhood  with  Poisson,  for  whom  he  had  called  directly 
after  lunch  ;  they  had  promised  to  be  back  punctually  at  six, 
so  that  their  arrival  could  not  be  delayed  much  longer.  And 
as  the  soup  was  now  almost  ready,  Gervaise  called  to  Madame 
Lerat,  saying  that  she  thought  it  time  to  fetch  the  Lorilleux. 
Madame  Lerat  at  once  became  very  grave ;  it  was  she  who 
had  conducted  all  the  negotiations  and  settled  how  every- 
thing should  pass  between  the  two  families.  She  put  on  her 
cap  and  shawl  again,  and  went  upstairs,  looking  very  stiff 
and  stately.  Down  below,  the  laundress  continued  stirring 
her  soup  without  saying  a  word,  but  the  guests,  who  had 
suddenly  become  serious,  waited  with  all  solemnity. 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        193 

It  was  Madame  Lerat  who  appeared  the  first.  She  had 
gone  round  by  the  street,  so  as  to  give  more  pomp  to  the 
reconcihation  and  she  held  the  shop-door  wide  open,  whilst 
Madame  Lorilleux,  wearing  a  silk  dress,  paused  on  the 
threshold.  All  the  guests  had  risen  from  their  seats ; 
Gervaise  went  forward,  and  kissing  her  sister-in-law  as  had 
been  agreed,  said  :  '  Come  in.  It's  all  over,  isn't  it  ?  We'll 
all  be  nice  together.' 

And  thereupon  Madame  Lorilleux  rephed :  *  I  shall  be 
only  too  happy  if  we're  so  always.* 

When  she  had  entered,  Lorilleux  in  his  turn  stopped  on 
the  threshold,  and  waited  to  be  embraced  before  walking  into 
the  shop.  Neither  he  nor  his  wife  had  brought  a  bouquet. 
They  had  decided  not  to  do  so,  as  they  thought  it  would  look 
too  much  like  bowing  down  to  the  Hobbler  should  they  carry 
flowers  with  them  the  first  time  they  visited  her  since  the 
quarrel.  However,  Gervaise  told  Augustine  to  bring  two 
quart  bottles  of  wine.  Then,  filling  some  glasses  on  a  corner 
of  the  table,  she  called  every  one  to  her.  And  each  took  a 
glass,  and  chinked  it  against  the  glasses  of  the  others,  to  the 
good  friendship  of  the  family.  A  pause  came  whilst  the 
company  drank,  the  ladies  raising  their  elbows,  and  emptying 
their  glasses  to  the  last  drop. 

*  Nothing  is  better  before  soup,'  declared  Boche,  with  a 
cluck  of  the  tongue. 

However,  Mother  Coupeau  had  duly  placed  herself  opposite 
the  doorway  to  see  the  faces  the  Lorilleux  would  make,  and 
now  pulling  Gervaise  by  the  skirt,  she  carried  her  off  into  the 
back-room.  And  there,  both  leaning  over  the  soup,  they 
conversed  in  rapid  whispers  : 

*  Eh  !  what  a  sight ! '  said  the  old  woman,  *  You  couldn't 
see  them  ;  but  I  was  watching.  When  she  caught  sight  of 
the  table,  her  face  twisted  round  like  that,  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  almost  touched  her  eyes ;  and  as  for  him,  it  nearly 
choked  him,  he  coughed,  and  coughed.  And  just  look  at  them 
now  over  there  ;  they've  no  spittle  left  in  their  mouths,  they're 
chewing  their  lips.' 

'It's  quite  painful  to  see  people  as  jealous  as  that,* 
murmured  Gervaise. 

In  point  of  fact,  the  Lorilleux  did  have  a  funny  look. 
Nobody  likes  to  be  crushed,  of  course  not;  in  families, 
especially,  when  one  or  another  member  proves  successful, 
the   others  don't  like  it ;  that  is   but  natural.     Only  they 

o 


194  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

dissimulate  and  don't  make  exhibitions  of  themselves.  But 
then  the  Lorilleux  could  not  dissimulate.  The  scene  over- 
powered them,  they  vnnced,  squinted,  and  made  grimaces ;  in 
short,  their  emotion  was  so  apparent,  that  the  others  looked 
at  them,  and  asked  them  if  they  were  unwell.  Sure  enough 
they  would  never  be  able  to  stomach  that  table,  with  its  four- 
teen covers,  its  white  tablecloth  and  napkins,  and  its  slices  of 
bread  cut  beforehand.  One  might  have  thought  oneself  in  a 
restaurant  on  the  Boulevards.  Madame  Lorilleux,  holding 
her  head  down,  so  as  not  to  see  the  flowers,  walked  right 
round,  and  slyly  felt  the  big  tablecloth,  tormented  by  the 
thought  that  it  must  be  a  new  one. 

*  Here  we  are  ! '  cried  Gervaise,  as  she  reappeared,  smiling, 
with  her  arms  bare,  and  her  curls  blowing  over  her  temples. 

The  guests  were  still  shuffling  about  round  the  table.  All 
were  hungry,  and  somewhat  bored. 

'  If  the  governor  would  only  come,'  resumed  the  laundress, 
*  we  might  begin.' 

*  Ah,  well  I '  said  Madame  Lorilleux,  *the  soup  will  have 
plenty  of  time  to  get  cold.  Coupeau  always  forgets.  You 
shouldn't  have  let  him  go  off.' 

It  was  already  half-past  six.  Everything  was  burning 
now ;  the  goose  would  be  overdone.  Then  Gervaise,  feeHng 
quite  dejected,  talked  of  sending  some  one  to  peep  into  the 
wine-shops  of  the  neighbourhood  on  the  chance  of  discovering 
Coupeau.  And,  as  Goujet  offered  his  services,  she  decided  to 
go  with  him.  Virginie,  who  felt  anxious  about  her  husband, 
accompanied  them.  Walking  bareheaded,  side  by  side,  the 
trio  quite  blocked  up  the  pavement.  The  blacksmith,  who 
wore  a  frock-coat,  had  Gervaise  on  his  left  arm  and  Virginie 
on  his  right ;  he  was  doing  the  two-handled  basket,  said  he  ; 
which  seemed  to  them  such  a  funny  remark,  that  they  stopped 
short,  unable  to  move  their  legs  for  laughing.  And  on 
looking  at  themselves  in  the  pork-butcher's  glass,  they 
laughed  more  than  ever.  By  the  side  of  Goujet,  who  was  all 
in  black,  the  two  women  suggested  a  couple  of  speckled  hens 
— the  dressmaker  in  muslin  sprinkled  with  pink  flowers,  and 
the  laundress  in  white  percale  with  blue  spots,  her  wrists 
bare,  and  a  little  grey  silk  scarf  tied  in  a  bow  about  her 
neck.  People  turned  to  see  them  pass  clad  in  their  Sunday 
best  on  a  week-day,  looking  so  fresh  and  lively,  as  they  jostled 
the  crowd,  which  hung  about  the  Eue  des  Poissonniers  that 
warm  June  evening.    But  they  had  no  time  to  amuse  them- 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON       195 

selves.  They  went  straight  to  the  door  of  each  wine-shop, 
peeped  in,  and  scrutinised  the  people  standing  before  the 
counter.  Had  that  brute  Coupeau  gone  off  to  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  to  get  his  dram?  They  had  ah-eady  done  the 
upper  part  of  the  street,  looking  in  at  all  likely  places,  the 
*  Little  Civet,'  renowned  for  its  preserved  plums,  old  Mother 
Baquet's,  where  Orleans  wine  was  sold  at  eight  sous  a 
quart ;  and  the  *  Butterfly,'  the  favourite  house  of  call  for 
cabmen,  who,  as  a  class,  are  difficult  customers  to  please. 
And  still  there  was  no  sign  of  Coupeau.  However,  as  they 
were  going  towards  the  Boulevard,  passing  the  corner  tavern, 
kept  by  Fran9ois,  Gervaise  suddenly  gave  vent  to  a  faint  cry. 

*  What's  the  matter  ?  '  asked  Goujet. 

The  laundress  no  longer  laughed.  She  had  become  very 
pale,  so  affected  by  emotion,  that  she  had  almost  fallen. 
However,  Virginie  understood  it  all  directly  she  caught  sight 
of  Lantier  quietly  dining  at  a  table  in  Fran9ois's  shop.  Then 
the  two  women  dragged  the  blacksmith  along.  *  My  foot 
twisted,'  said  Gervaise,  as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  speak. 

At  length,  they  discovered  Coupeau  and  Poisson  in  old 
Colombe's  *  Assommoir '  at  the  bottom  of  the  street.  They 
were  standing  there  amidst  a  number  of  men  :  Coupeau,  in  a 
grey  blouse,  was  shouting,  gesticulating,  and  banging  his 
fists  on  the  counter,  whereas  Poisson,  buttoned  up  in  an  old 
brown  coat — he  was  off  duty  that  day — Kstened  to  him  in 
silence,  while  pulling  his  carroty  moustache  and  imperial. 
Goujet  left  the  women  on  the  kerbstone,  went  in,  and  laid 
his  hand  on  the  zinc-worker's  shoulder.  But  when  Coupeau 
caught  sight  of  Gervaise  and  Virginie  outside,  he  grew 
angry.  Why  was  he  badgered  by  females  like  that  ?  Petti- 
coats had  taken  to  tracking  him  about  now  I  Well !  he  de- 
clined to  stir,  they  could  go  and  eat  their  beastly  dinner  by 
themselves.  To  quiet  him,  Goujet  was  obhged  to  accept  a 
drop  of  something ;  and  even  then  Coupeau  purposely 
dawdled  a  good  five  minutes  at  the  counter.  When  he  at 
length  came  out,  he  said  to  his  wife :  '  It  doesn't  suit  me, 
this  kind  of  thing.  I  stay  where  I've  business,  do  you 
hear  ? 

She  did  not  answer.  She  was  trembling.  In  all  proba- 
bility she  had  been  talking  of  Lantier  with  Virginie,  for  the 
latter  gave  her  husband  and  Goujet  a  push,  telling  them  to 
walk  on  in  front.  Then  the  two  women  placed  themselves  on 
either  side  of  the  zino- worker,  so  as  to  occupy  him,  and  pre- 


196  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

vent  him  from  seeing.  He  was  but  slightly  elevated,  and 
more  through  having  shouted  than  by  drink.  However,  by 
way  of  teasing  them,  as  they  seemed  desirous  of  following 
the  left-hand  pavement,  he  pushed  them  away  and  crossed 
to  the  other  side  of  the  street.  They  then  ran  after  him  in 
a  great  fright,  and  tried  to  prevent  him  from  seeing  Fran- 
9ois's  door.  But  he  must  have  known  that  Lantier  was 
there.  Gervaise  almost  lost  her  senses  on  hearing  him 
growl :  *  Yes,  my  duck,  there's  a  young  spark  of  our  ac- 
quaintance in  there  1  You  mustn't  take  me  for  a  ninny. 
Don't  let  me  catch  you  gallivanting  about  again  with  your 
side  glances  ! ' 

And  he  coarsely  declared  that  it  wasn't  he,  himself,  that 
she  had  come  to  look  for,  with  bare  arms  and  powdered  face. 
Oh  !  no  indeed,  it  was  her  old  bully  that  she  wanted  I  Then  all 
at  once  he  flew  into  a  mad  rage  with  Lantier.  Ah  !  the  brigand  ! 
ah  !  the  filthy  hound  I  One  or  the  other  of  them  would  have 
to  be  left  on  the  pavement,  ripped  up  like  a  rabbit.  However, 
though  a  crowd  was  already  gathering,  Lantier  did  not  appear 
to  notice  what  was  being  said,  but  slowly  went  on  eating 
some  veal  and  sorrel.  And  at  last  Virginie  was  able  to  lead 
Coupeau  away,  and  he  calmed  down  as  soon  as  he  had 
turned  the  corner  of  the  street.  All  the  same,  the  women 
returned  to  the  shop,  feehng  far  less  hvely  than  when  they 
had  left  it. 

The  guests  stood  round  the  table  pulling  very  long  faces. 
The  zinc-worker  shook  hands,  and  swayed  affectedly  before 
the  ladies  ;  while  Gervaise,  feeling  somewhat  ill  at  ease,  and 
speaking  in  an  undertone,  directed  the  company  to  their 
seats.  But  she  suddenly  noticed  that  owing  to  Madame 
Goujet's  absence  a  place  would  remain  vacant,  the  one  next 
to  Madame  Lorilleux.  '  We  are  thirteen  I '  said  she,  deeply 
affected,  seeing  in  thip -coincidence  a  fresh  omen  of  the  mis- 
fortune with  Vhich  she  had  felt  herself  threatened  for  some 
time  past. 

The  ladies,  who  were  already  seated,  rose  up,  looking 
anxious  and  annoyed.  Madame  Putois  offered  to  retire,  say- 
ing that  it  was  not  a  matter  to  laugh  about.  Under  such 
circumstances  as  these  she  herself  would  not  touch  a  thing, 
for  it  would  certainly  do  her  no  good.  Boche  chuckled,  how- 
ever. He  would  sooner  there  were  thirteen  than  fourteen 
at  table  ;  the  portions  woi^  be  all  the  larger,  that  was  certain. 

*  Wait  a  moment  1 '  resumed  Gervaise.     *  I  can  manage  it.* 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        197 

And  hurrying  outside,  she  called  old  Bru,  who  was  just  then 
crossing  the  roadway.  The  old  workman  entered,  stooping 
stiffly,  and  with  an  expressionless  face. 

*  Seat  yourself  there,  my  good  fellow,*  said  the  laundress. 
*  You  won't  mind  eating  with  us,  will  you  ?  * 

He  simply  nodded.     He  was  willing  ;  he  did  not  mind. 

*  As  well  him  as  another,'  she  continued,  lowering  her 
voice.  *He  doesn't  often  eat  his  fill.  He  will  at  least  enjoy 
himself  once  more  in  his  life.  We  shall  feel  no  remorse  in 
stuffing  ourselves  now.' 

Goujet  was  so  moved  that  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  The 
others  pitied  the  old  man,  thought  it  very  nice  and  added  that 
it  would  bring  luck  to  them  all.  However,  Madame  Lorilleux 
did  not  seem  particularly  well  pleased  at  being  next  to  the  old 
fellow ;  for  she  drew  away  from  him,  casting  glances  at  his 
horny  hands,  and  patched  and  faded  blouse.  Old  Bru  sat  with 
bowed  head,  embarrassed  above  all  by  the  napkin  which  hid 
the  plate  before  him.  He  ended  by  lifting  it  off,  and  gently 
placed  it  at  the  edge  of  the  table,  without  dreaming  of  putting 
it  on  his  knees. 

At  length  Gervaise  served  the  'pdU  d'Halie  soup,  and  the 
guests  were  taking  up  their  spoons,  when  Vu'ginie  remarked 
that  Coupeau  had  again  disappeared.  He  had  perhaps  gone 
back  to  old  Colombe's.  But  the  company  got  angry.  So 
much  the  worse  for  him  this  time  1  Nobody  would  run  after 
him  ;  he  could  stay  in  the  street  if  he  wasn't  hungry ._  How- 
ever, just  as  the  spoons  had  touched  the  bottoms  of  the 
plates,  Coupeau  reappeared,  carrying  two  pots  of  flowers,  a 
stock  and  a  balsam,  one  under  each  arm.  At  this  they  all 
clapped  their  hands,  while  he  gallantly  placed  one  pot  on  the 
right  and  the  other  on  the  left  of  Gervaise's  glass.  Then, 
bending  over  and  kissing  her,  he  said  :  *  I  had  forgotten  you, 
ducky.  But  we  love  each  other  all  the  same,  don't  we, 
especially  on  such  a  day  as  this  ? ' 

'  Monsieur  Coupeau's  very  nice  this  evening,'  murmured 
Clemence  in  Boche's  ear.  *  He's  had  just  what  he  required, 
just  sufficient  to  make  him  amiable.' 

The  governor's  pleasant  behaviour  restored  general  gaiety, 
which  at  one  moment  had  been  compromised.  Gervaise, 
at  her  ease  once  more,  became  all  smiles.  The  company 
finished  their  soup,  then  the  bottles  went  round,  and  they 
drank  their  first  drop  of  wine,  just  ?.  drop,  pure,  to  wash  down 
the  soup.    One  could  hear  the  children  quarrelling  in  the 


1 98  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

next  room.  ]Stienne,  Pauline,  Nana,  and  little  Victor 
Fauconnier  were  assembled  there.  It  had  been  decided  to  lay 
a  table  for  the  four  of  them,  and  they  had  been  told  to  be  very 
good.  As  for  that  squint-eyed  Augustine,  who  had  to  look 
after  the  stoves,  she  was  to  eat  off  her  knees. 

'  Mamma  I  mamma  1  '  suddenly  screamed  Nana,  *  Augustine 
is  dipping  her  bread  in  the  roaster  I ' 

At  this  the  laundress  hastened  into  the  room,  and  caught 
the  squint-eyed  one  burning  her  throat  in  her  attempts  to 
swallow  a  slice  of  bread  which  she  had  soaked  in  the  boiling 
goose  fat.  Gervaise  boxed  her  ears,  because,  like  the  hussy  she 
was,  she  called  out  that  it  wasn't  true.  Then  the  dinner 
continued,  and  when  following  the  boiled  beef  the  veal 
hlanquette  made  its  appearance,  served  in  a  salad  bowl,  as  they 
had  no  dish  large  enough  for  it,  the  company  greeted  it  with  a 
laugh.  *  This  is  becoming  serious,'  declared  Poisson,  who 
spoke  but  seldom. 

It  was  now  half-past  seven.  They  had  closed  the  shop  door, 
so  as  not  to  be  spied  upon  by  the  whole  neighbourhood.  As  it 
was,  the  little  clockmaker  over  the  road  was  opening  his  eyes  to 
their  fullest  extent,  with  such  a  gluttonous  expression,  that  it 
almost  prevented  them  from  eating.  The  curtains  hanging 
before  the  windows  admitted  a  broad  white  uniform  light,  in 
which  the  entire  table  was  steeped  with  its  symmetrical  arrange- 
ment of  knives  and  forks,  and  its  pots  of  flowers  enveloped  in 
white  paper ;  and  this  pale  light,  this  slow  approach  of  dusk,  gave 
a  somewhat  distingue  appearance  to  the  gathering.  Virginie 
looked  round  the  closed  apartment  all  hung  with  muslin,  and 
declared  it  to  be  pretty.  No  doubt  when  a  cart  passed  along 
the  street,  the  glasses  jingled  together  on  the  tablecloth,  and 
the  ladies  were  obliged  to  shout  as  loudly  as  the  men.  But 
there  was  not  much  conversation:  they  all  behaved  very 
respectably,  and  were  very  attentive  to  one  another.  Coupeau 
alone  wore  a  blouse,  because,  as  he  said,  a  man  need  not  stand 
on  ceremony  with  his  friends,  besides  which  the  blouse  was  the 
workman's  garb  of  honour.  However,  the  ladies  were  in  tight 
bodices,  their  hair  all  greasy  with  pomatum,  in  which  the  day- 
light was  reflected  ;  whilst  the  gentlemen,  sitting  at  a  distance 
from  the  table,  puffed  out  their  chests  and  kept  their  elbows 
wide  apart  for  fear  of  staining  their  frock-coats. 

Ah,  thunder !  what  a  hole  they  were  making  in  the 
blanquette  I  If  they  spoke  little,  they  chewed  in  earnest,  and 
emptied  and  emptied  the  salad-bowl,  where  a  spoon  was  stuck 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        199 

amidst  the  thick  sauce — a  good  yellow  sauce  which  quivered  like 
jelly.  The  guests  fished  out  pieces  of  veal,  and  it  seemed  aa 
though  they  would  never  come  to  the  end  of  it  all ;  the  salad- 
bowl  journeyed  from  hand  to  hand,  and  face  after  face  bent  over 
it  looking  for  mushrooms.  Then,  too,  the  long  loaves  standing 
against  the  wall,  behind  the  company,  appeared  to  melt  away. 
Between  the  mouthfuls  one  could  hear  the  sound  of  glasses 
being  replaced  on  the  table.  The  sauce  was  a  trifle  over  salt, 
and  four  quarts  of  wine  were  required  to  drown  that  veal, 
which  though  it  went  down  like  cream,  ignited  a  conflagration 
in  one's  stomach.  And  before  there  was  time  to  draw  breath, 
the  chine  of  pork,  surrounded  by  big  round  potatoes,  arrived  in 
a  huge  dish  amidst  a  cloud  of  smoke.  There  was  a  general  out- 
cry. By  Jove  !  that  was  just  the  thing  !  Every  one  liked  it. 
They  would  do  it  justice ;  and  they  watched  the  dish  anxiously, 
as  they  wiped  their  knives  on  their  bread,  so  as  to  be  in 
readiness.  Then,  as  soon  as  they  had  helped  themselves,  they 
nudged  one  another  and  began  to  talk  with  their  mouths  full. 
Eh  !  it  was  just  like  butter  I  something  soft  yet  solid,  which  one 
could  feel  run  through  one,  right  into  one's  boots.  The 
potatoes,  too,  were  like  sugar.  There  was  certainly  nothing 
salt  about  this  dish ;  only,  on  account  of  the  potatoes,  a 
wetting  became  necessary  every  few  minutes.  So  four  more 
quarts  were  uncorked.  And  afterwards  the  plates  were  left  so 
clean  that  they  served  for  the  green  peas  and  bacon.  Oh  ! 
vegetables  were  of  no  consequence.  The  company  gulped 
down  the  peas  in  spoonfuls  as  a  mere  amusement,  though  with 
a  touch  of  real  gourmandise,  such  as  was  fitting  with  a  ladies' 
dish.  After  all,  better  than  the  peas  thenaselves  were  the 
small  pieces  of  bacon,  which  were  just  nicely  grilled.  This 
time  two  quarts  of  wine  sufficed  as  an  accompaniment. 

*  Mamma !  mamma  I  '  suddenly  called  Nana,  *  Augustine's 
putting  her  fingers  in  my  plate  1 ' 

*  Don't  bother  me  !  give  her  a  slap  ! '  replied  Gervaise,  who 
was  stuffing  herself  with  peas. 

Nana  was  playing  the  part  of  mistress  of  the  house,  at  the 
children's  table  in  the  next  room.  She,  had  seated  herseM 
beside  Victor,  and  had  placed  her  brother  Etienne  next  to  little 
Pauline ;  and  they  pretended  to  be  two  married  couples  out 
for  a  day's  pleasure.  At  the  beginning  Nana  had  helped  her 
guests  very  nicely,  with  the  smiling  affability  of  a  grown-up 
person  ;  but  yielding  to  her  partiality  for  bacon,  she  had  just 
kept  all  the  little  pieces  for  herself.     Squint-eyed  Augustine, 


200  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

who  slyly  hovered  round  the  children,  had  forthwith  taken  ad- 
vantage of  the  incident  to  appropriate  the  bacon  by  the  hand- 
ful under  the  pretext  of  dividing  it  properly.  Nana,  in  a  rage, 
bit  her  wrist. 

*  Ah,  you  know,*  murmured  Augustine,  '  I'll  tell  your 
mother  that  after  the  veal  you  asked  Victor  to  kiss  you.' 

However,  all  became  quiet  again,  for  Gervaise  and  Mother 
Coupeau  entered  to  fetch  the  goose.  The  company  at  the  big 
table  in  the  shop  were  leaning  back  in  their  chairs  and  draw- 
ing breath.  The  men  unbuttoned  their  waistcoats,  and  the 
ladies  wiped  their  faces  with  their  napkins.  The  repast  was, 
so  to  say,  mterrupted.  One  or  two  guests,  unable  to  keep  their 
jaws  still,  continued  to  swallow  large  mouthfuls  of  bread, 
without  even  knowing  what  they  were  about,  but  the  others 
waited,  allowing  their  food  to  settle.  Night  had  by  this  time 
slowly  fallen  ;  a  dirty,  ashen  grey  gUmmer  was  fading  behind 
the  curtains.  When  Augustine  brought  two  lamps  and  placed 
one  at  each  end  of  the  table,  the  greasy  forks  and  plates,  the 
cloth  stained  with  wine  and  covered  with  crumbs,  all  the 
general  disorder,  in  fact,  became  apparent.  In  the  strong  odour 
which  pervaded  the  room,  the  company  felt  half  stifled. 
Certain  warm  fumes,  however,  attracted  all  noses  towards  the 
kitchen. 

*  Can  I  help  you  ? '  cried  Virginie,  who  forthwith  left  her 
chair  and  passed  into  the  inner  room.  And  all  the  other 
women  followed  her  one  by  one,  collecting  around  the  roaster 
and  watching  Gervaise  and  Mother  Coupeau,  as  they  tried  to 
pull  out  the  bird.  Then  came  a  clamour,  amidst  which  one 
could  distinguish  the  shrill  voices  and  joyful  leaps  of  the 
children.  And  afterwards  there  was  a  triumphal  entry  into 
the  shop.  Gervaise  carried  the  goose,  her  arms  stiffened,  and 
her  perspiring  face  expanding  in  a  broad,  silent  grin.  The 
women  walked  behind  her,  laughing  in  hke  fashion  ;  whilst 
Nana,  right  in  the  rear,  raised  herself  to  look,  with  widely 
dilated  eyes.  When  the  huge  golden  goose,  streaming  with 
gravy,  was  on  the  table,  they  did  not  immediately  attack  it. 
Astonishment,  respectful  surprise,  left  everybody  speechless 
for  a  moment.  They  drew  one  another's  attention  to  the 
bird,  with  winks  and  nods.  Golly  !  what  a  fine  lady  1  what 
legs,  and  what  a  breast  she  had ! 

*  She  didn't  get  fat  by  licking  the  walls,  I'll  bet  1  *  said 
Boche. 

Then  they    entered    into  details  respecting    the  goose. 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON       201 

Gervaise  stated  the  facts.  It  was  the  finest  that  she  had  been 
able  to  procure  at  the  poulterer's  in  the  Faubourg-Poissonniere ; 
it  had  weighed  twelve  pounds  and  a  half  in  the  charcoal- 
dealer's  scales  ;  they  had  burnt  nearly  half  a  bushel  of  char- 
coal in  cooking  it,  and  it  had  yielded  three  basins  full  of 
dripping.  Then  Virginie  interposed  to  boast  that  she  had 
seen  the  bird  before  it  was  cooked.  One  could  have  eaten  it 
as  it  was,  said  she,  the  skin  looked  so  soft  and  white  I  At 
this  there  was  gluttonous  laughter  from  all  excepting  the 
Lorilleux,  who  only  bit  their  lips,  feeling  ready  to  choke  at 
seeing  such  a  goose  as  that  on  the  Hobbler's  table. 

*  Well  I  but  we  can't  eat  it  whole,'  the  laundress  ended  by 
observing.  '  Who'll  cut  it  up  ?  No,  no,  not  me  I  It's  too 
big  ;  I'm  afraid  of  it.' 

Coupeau  offered  his  services.  It  was  very  simple,  said  he, 
you  caught  hold  of  the  limbs,  and  simply  pulled  them  off ;  the 
meat  would  be  just  as  good  as  if  it  were  cut.  But  the  others 
protested,  and  forcibly  took  possession  of  the  large  kitchen 
knife  which  the  zinc- worker  already  held  in  his  hand. 
Whenever  he  carved  anything,  he  turned  the  dish  into  a 
perfect  graveyard.  For  a  moment  they  waited  for  some 
gentleman  to  come  forward,  but  at  last  Madame  Lerat  said  in 
a  most  amiable  voice :  '  Listen,  it  ought  to  be  Monsieur 
Poisson ;  yes.  Monsieur  Poisson.'  And  as  the  others  did  not 
appear  to  understand  her,  she  added,  in  a  more  flattering 
manner  still :  '  Why,  yes,  of  course  it  ought  to  be  Monsieur 
Poisson,  who's  accustomed  to  the  use  of  weapons.' 

So  saying,  she  passed  the  kitchen  knife  to  the  policeman.  All 
round  the  table  the  company  laughed  with  pleasure  and  approval. 
Poisson  bowed  his  head  with  military  stiffness,  and  brought 
the  goose  before  him,  while  his  neighbours,  Gervaise  and 
Madame  Boche,  drew  aside,  so  as  to  leave  him  plenty  of  elbow 
room.  He  carved  slowly,  with  broad  gestures,  and  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  bird,  as  though  to  nail  it  to  the  dish.  When 
he  thrust  the  knife  into  the  body,  which  cracked,  Lorilleux 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  patriotism. 

*  Ah  1  if  it  were  a  Cossack  ! '  he  cried. 

'  Have  you  ever  fought  with  Cossacks,  Monsieur  Poisson  ?  * 
inquired  Madame  Boche. 

*No,  with  Bedouins,'  replied  the  policeman,  who  was 
cutting  off  a  wing.     '  There  are  no  more  Cossacks.' 

But  deep  silence  fell.  Necks  were  stretched,  and  every 
eye  followed  the  knife.    Poisson  was  preparing  a  surprise. 


202  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  last  cut,  whereupon  the  after  part  of  the 
bird  came  off  and  stood  up  on  end,  forming  what  is  called 
'  the  bishop's  mitre.'  Then  admiration  burst  forth,  while  the 
gravy  streamed  out  of  the  opening  in  the  goose,  and  Boche 
smacked  his  lips. 

*  I  should  like  it  all  to  trickle  into  my  mouth/  he 
murmured. 

But  Clemence  persistently  repeated  :  *  Monsieur  Poisson, 
listen.  Monsieur  Poisson  I  You  will  save  me  the  parson's  nose, 
won't  you  ? ' 

Poisson  was  too  busy  to  reply.  However,  the  goose  was 
soon  cut  up,  and  the  policeman  arranged  the  several  pieces 
round  the  dish.  All  was  now  ready  to  be  served  ;  but  the 
ladies,  who  were  unhooking  their  dresses,  complained  of  the 
great  heat.  Coupeau  thereupon  called  out  that  they  were  at 
home,  and  that  he  did  not  care  a  button  for  the  neighbours, 
with  which  remark  he  rose  and  threw  the  shop-door  wide  open, 
so  that  the  junketting  went  on  amidst  the  rumbhng  of  vehicles 
and  the  jostling  of  passers-by.  And,  their  jaws  having 
had  a  rest,  and  fresh  room  being  found  inside  them,  the  com- 
pany, as  if  beginning  another  dinner,  furiously  attacked  the 
goose.  That  joker  Boche  declared  that  while  he  was  merely 
waiting  and  watching  the  bird  cut  up,  the  stewed  veal  and 
chine  of  pork  had  gone  down  into  the  calves  of  his  legs. 

Then  came  a  wonderful  tuck-in ;  that  is  to  say,  none  oi 
the  party  could  recollect  having  previously  run  such  tre- 
mendous risk  of  indigestion.  Gervaise,  puffed  out  and  leaning 
on  her  elbows,  ate  great  pieces  of  breast,  without  speaking  a 
word,  for  fear  of  losing  a  mouthful.  True,  she  felt  shghtly 
ashamed  and  annoyed  at  thus  showing  herself  as  gluttonous  as 
a  cat,  before  Goujet,  but  he  on  his  side  was  too  busy  stuffing 
himself  to  notice  how  red  she  was  with  eating.  Besides,  in 
spite  of  her  greediness,  she  remained  so  pleasant  and  good- 
natured  1  She  did  not  speak,  but  she  constantly  busied  her- 
self in  looking  after  old  Bru,  and  placing  some  dainty  bit  on 
his  plate.  It  was  even  touching  to  see  this  glutton  take  a 
piece  of  wing  almost  from  her  mouth  to  give  it  to  the  old  fel- 
low, who,  by  the  way,  appeared  to  be  no  judge,  but  swallowed 
everything  with  bowed  head,  in  a  state  of  stupor  at  having  to 
guttle  so  much — he  whose  gizzard  had  lost  the  taste  of  bread. 

Meantime,  the  Lorilleux  expended  their  rage  on  the  roast ; 
they  ate  enough  to  last  them  for  three  days  ;  and  they  would 
willingly  have  tucked  away  dish,  table,  and  shop  itself,  if  they 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON-        203 

could  only  have  ruined  the  Hobbler  by  doing  so.  All  the 
ladies  had  wanted  a  piece  of  the  *  carcass,'  that  being  a  weak- 
ness of  the  ladies  on  account  of  their  partiality  for  picking 
bones.  Madame  Lerat,  Madame  Boche,  and  Madame  Putois 
were  all  doing  so,  whilst  Mother  Coupeau,  who  adored  the 
neck,  was  tearing  the  flesh  off  it  with  her  two  remaining  teeth. 
Virginie,  for  her  part,  Uked  the  skin,  when  it  was  nicely 
browned,  and  the  other  guests  gallantly  passed  theirs  to  her ; 
BO  much  so,  that  Poisson  looked  at  his  wife  severely,  and  bade 
her  stop,  because  she  had  eaten  enough  as  it  was.  Once  before, 
said  he,  she  had  remained  a  fortnight  in  bed,  through  eating  too 
much  roast  goose.  But  Coupeau  got  angry  and  helped  Virginie 
to  the  upper  part  of  a  leg,  saying  that  if  she  did  not  pick  it  she 
was  no  woman.  Had  roast  goose  ever  done  harm  to  anybody  ? 
he  asked.  On  the  contrary,  it  cured  all  complaints  of  the 
spleen.  One  could  eat  it  without  bread,  like  dessert.  He, 
Coupeau,  could  go  on  swallowing  it  all  night  long  without 
being  the  least  bit  inconvenienced ;  and,  thereupon,  just  to  show 
off,  he  stuffed  a  whole  drum-stick  into  his  mouth.  Meanwhile, 
C16mence  was  finishing  her  parson's  nose,  sucking  it  with 
her  lips,  while  wriggling  with  laughter  at  the  coarse  compli- 
ments which  Boche  was  whispering  to  her.  Ah,  yes,  it  was 
a  tuck  out,  and  no  mistake  !  When  one's  at  it,  one's  at  it,  you 
know ;  and  when  one  only  has  such  a  chance  every  now  and 
then,  one  would  be  preciousstupidnottostuff  oneself  up  to  one's 
ears  !  The  whole  company  was  slowly  but  visibly  swelling. 
The  women,  the  blessed  gormandisers,  with  their  mouths 
open,  their  chins  smeared  with  grease,  and  their  cheeks  red  and 
bloated,  seemed  to  be  bursting  their  very  skins. 

And  the  wine,  my  children  !  it  flowed  round  the  table  as 
water  flows  along  the  Seine.  There  was  a  perfect  stream  of 
it,  as  of  rain  when  big  clouds  burst  and  the  earth  is  thirsty. 
Coupeau  poured  it  out  from  on  high  to  see  it  froth ;  and 
whenever  a  bottle  was  empty,  he  turned  it  upside  down,  and 
pressed  the  neck  hke  a  woman  milking  a  cow.  That  made 
yet  another  dead  man  ;  and  in  a  corner  of  the  shop,  the  heap 
of  dead  men  went  on  increasing,  forming  a  perfect  cemetery  of 
bottles,  on  which  they  threw  all  the  refuse  from  the  table. 
Madame  Putois,  having  asked  for  some  water,  the  zinc- worker 
indignantly  removed  the  carafes.  Did  respectable  people 
drink  water  ?  There  must  be  no  frogs'  liquor  I  And  so  glass- 
fuls  of  wine  were  swallowed  at  a  gulp ;  you  could  hear  the 
liquid  shoot  down  their  throats  like  rain-water  rushing  into 


204  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  sewers  during  a  storm.  It  rained  a  crude  eourisli  wine, 
a  wine  which  had  at  first  smacked  of  a  stale  cask,  but  to  which 
one  got  so  well  accustomed,  that  it  ended  by  tasting  nutty. 

Ah,  ye  gods  !  whatever  the  Jesuits  might  say,  grape-juice, 
in  Coupeau's  opinion,  was  a  famous  invention  !  The  guests 
laughed  and  applauded  ;  for,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  the 
workman  could  not  have  lived  without  wine.  Father  Noah 
must  have  planted  the  vine  for  the  benefit  of  zinc-workers, 
tailors,  and  blacksmiths.  Wine  cleansed  and  comforted  one 
after  work  ;  wine  even  put  some  fire  into  the  veins  of  the  sloth- 
ful. And  when  it  played  tricks  with  you,  well !  you  felt  your- 
self monarch  of  all  you  surveyed,  the  whole  of  Paris  belonged 
to  you.  And,  then,  too,  had  the  toiling  and  moiling  workman, 
who  was  always  hard  up  and  always  treated  with  contempt  by 
the  middle  class  and  the  aristocrats,  so  many  opportunities  of 
enjoying  himself?  Was  it  right,  therefore,  to  reproach  him 
for  indulging  in  a  little  tipple  every  now  and  again,  just  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  the  rosy  side  of  life  ?  At  that  very  moment, 
for  instance,  did  they  care  a  hang  for  the  Emperor  and  his 
position  and  his  wealth  ?  Perhaps  the  Emperor  himself  was 
also  screwed,  but  try  as  he  might  he  couldn't  get  fuller  or 
amuse  himself  more  than  they  did.  A  fig  for  the  aristocrats  I 
Coupeau  sent  the  whole  world  to  blazes.  He  thought  all  the 
girls  prime,  slapped  his  pocket,  in  which  three  sous  jingled, 
and  laughed  as  though  they  were  a  shovelful  of  five-fi"ano 
pieces.  Even  Goujet,  usually  so  sober,  was  getting  elevated, 
Boche's  eyes  were  becoming  smaller  ;  Lorilleux'  were  paling 
while  sterner  and  sterner  glances  came  from  Poisson's  bronzed 
veteran  face.  They  were  already  as  drunk  as  ticks.  And  the 
ladies  had  their  touch  of  it  too — oh  !  just  a  little  mellowness 
as  yet,  a  flush  of  wine  on  their  cheeks,  which  made  them  feel 
over- warm,  and  induced  them  to  doff  their  neckerchiefs.  Cle- 
mence  alone  was  beginning  to  forget  herself.  But  all  at  once 
Gervaise  recollected  the  six  sealed  bottles  of  wine  which  she 
had  omitted  to  put  on  the  table  with  the  goose.  So  she  fetched 
them,  and  all  the  glasses  were  filled  once  more.  Then  Poisson 
rose,  and  glass  in  hand  exclaimed  :  *  I  drink  to  the  health  of 
the  missus  ! ' 

At  this  the  whole  company  stood  up,  noisily  pushing  back 
their  chairs ;  and  with  arms  outstretched  they  chinked  glasses 
amidst  a  terrible  uproar. 

*  To  this  day  fifty  years  hence  !  *  cried  Virginie. 

*No,  no,'  replied  Gervaise,   deeply  moved  and  smiling. 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        205 

•  I  should  be  too  old.    Ah  I  a  day  comes  when  one's  glad  to 

go.' 

Meantime,  the  door  being  wide  open,  the  neighbourhood 
was  looking  on  and  joining  in  the  festivities.  Passers-by 
stopped  in  the  broad  ray  of  light  which  spread  over  the  j^ave- 
ment,  and  laughed  heartily  at  seeing  all  those  people  stuff- 
ing away  so  jovially.  Cabmen  and  carters,  leaning  forward  on 
their  seats,  and  whipping  up  their  jades,  glanced  into  the  shop 
and  cracked  a  joke  as  they  passed  :  '  I  say,  aren't  you  going  to 
Btand  something  ?  Hallo,  there  !  are  you  bursting  ?  Shall  I 
fetch  the  doctor  ? '  And  the  smell  of  the  goose  filled  the  whole 
street  with  smiles  and  gaiety ;  the  grocer's  men,  as  they  stood 
on  the  pavement  opposite,  fancied  they  were  eating  the  bird 
themselves  ;  every  minute  or  so  the  wives  of  the  greengrocer 
and  the  tripe  dealer  came  to  their  shop  doors,  to  sniff  the  air 
and  lick  their  lips.  The  street  was  positively  bursting  with 
indigestion.  Mesdames  Gudorge,  mother  and  daughter,  who 
kept  the  umbrella  shop  close  by,  and,  as  a  rule,  were  never 
Been  out  of  doors,  crossed  the  road  one  behind  the  other,  glanc- 
ing askance  at  the  festive  scene,  and  looking  as  red  as  though 
they  had  been  making  pancakes.  As  for  the  httle  clockmaker, 
seated  at  his  bench,  he  was  so  intoxicated  with  having  counted 
the  bottles  of  wine,  so  dreadfully  excited  amidst  his  merry 
cuckoo  clocks,  that  he  could  no  longer  work. 

Yes,  the  neighbours  were  quite  upset  1  as  Coupeau  said. 
But  why  should  there  be  any  secret  about  the  matter  ?  The 
company,  now  fairly  launched,  no  longer  felt  ashamed  of  being 
seen  at  table ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  flattered,  excited  by  the 
presence  of  that  concourse  of  people,  gaping  with  gluttony ; 
and  it  would  have  liked  to  knock  out  the  shop-front  and  drag 
the  table  into  the  roadway,  and  there  enjoy  its  dessert  under 
the  very  nose  of  the  public,  amidst  all  the  commotion  of  the 
traffic.  There  was  nothing  disgusting  about  them,  was  there  ? 
Well,  then,  there  was  no  need  for  them  to  shut  themselves  in 
like  selfish  people !  Coupeau,  noticing  that  the  Httle  clock- 
maker  looked  very  thirsty,  held  up  a  bottle ;  and,  the  other 
having  nodded  his  head  in  acquiescence,  he  carried  him  the 
bottle  and  a  glass.  In  this  wise  they  began  to  fraternise  with 
the  street.  They  drank  to  any  one  who  passed.  They  called 
in  any  chaps  who  looked  the  right  sort.  And  thus  the  feast 
spread,  extending  from  one  to  another,  in  such  a  way  that  the 
entire  neighbourhood  of  the  Goutte-d'Or  smelt  the  grub,  and 


2o6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

held  its  stomach,  amidst  a  bacchanalian  rumpus  worthy  of  the 
fiend  himself. 

For  some  minutes,  Madame  Vigouroux,  the  charcoal- dealer, 
had  been  passing  to  and  fro  before  the  door. 

•  Hi  I  Madame  Vigouroux  I  Madame  "Vigouroux  !  *  yelled 
the  company. 

She  entered,  grinning  like  an  animal,  her  face  washed  and 
her  figure  so  plump  that  she  seemed  likely  to  burst  her  dress- 
body.  It  was  this  plumpness  which  made  her  such  a  particular 
favourite  with  the  gentlemen.  Boche  made  room  for  her 
beside  him,  and  slyly  began  to  pay  her  court.  But  she,  being 
accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing,  quietly  tossed  off  a  glass  of 
wine,  and  related  that  all  the  neighbours  were  at  their  windows, 
and  that  some  of  the  people  of  the  house  were  beginning  to 
get  angry. 

*  Oh,  that's  our  business,'  said  Madame  Boche.  *  We're 
the  doorkeepers,  aren't  we  ?  Well,  we're  answerable  for  good 
order.  Let  them  come  and  complain  to  us,  and  we'll  receive 
them  in  a  way  they  don't  expect.' 

In  the  back-room  there  had  just  been  a  furious  fight  between 
Nana  and  Augustine,  on  account  of  the  roaster,  which  both 
wanted  to  scrape  out.  For  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  roaster 
had  rebounded  over  the  tiled  floor  with  the  clanging  of  an  old 
saucepan.  Now,  however,  Nana  was  nursing  Httle  Victor, 
who  had  a  goose-bone  in  his  throat.  She  thrust  her  fingers 
under  his  chin,  and  compelled  him  to  swallow  big  lumps  of 
sugar  by  way  of  a  remedy.  Still  this  did  not  prevent  her 
from  keeping  an  eye  on  the  large  table.  Every  minute 
or  so  she  came  to  ask  for  wine,  bread,  or  meat,  for  Etienne 
and  Pauline. 

'  Here  !  burst  I '  her  mother  would  say  to  her.  *  Perhaps 
you'll  leave  us  in  peace  now  ! ' 

The  children  were  scarcely  able  to  swallow,  nevertheless 
they  continued  gorging,  while  tapping  their  forks  on  the 
table  to  the  tune  of  a  canticle,  in  order  to  excite  themselves. 

Amidst  the  racket,  however,  a  conversation  had  started 
between  Father  Bru  and  Mother  Coupeau.  The  old  fellow, 
who  remained  ghastly  pale  in  spite  of  all  the  wine  and  food 
given  him,  was  talking  of  his  sons  who  had  died  in  the  Crimea. 
Ah  !  if  the  lads  had  only  lived,  he  would  have  had  bread  to 
eat  every  day.  But  Mother  Coupeau  leant  towards  him,  and 
said  in  a  somewhat  husky  voice :  *  Ah  !  one  has  many  worries 
with  children  I     For  instance,  I  appear  to  be  happy  here, 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON       207 

flon't  I  ?    Well  I  I  cry  oftener  than  you  think.    No,  don't 
wish  to  have  children.' 

Old  Bru  shook  his  head.  *I  can  no  longer  get  work 
anywhere,'  he  murmured.  *  I'm  too  old.  "When  I  enter  a 
workshop  the  young  fellows  joke,  and  ask  me  if  I  polished 
Henri  IV. 's  boots.  Last  year,  I  was  still  able  to  earn  thirty 
sous  a  day  at  painting  a  bridge  ;  I  had  to  remain  on  my  back 
all  the  time,  with  the  river  flowing  beneath.  I've  coughed 
ever  since  then.  And  now  it's  all  over :  they  won't  take  me 
anywhere.*  He  looked  at  his  poor  stiff  hands  and  added : 
*  It's  easy  to  understand,  I'm  no  longer  good  for  anything. 
They're  right ;  if  I  were  in  their  place,  I  should  do  the  same. 
You  see,  my  misfortune  is  that  I'm  not  dead.  Yes,  it's  my 
fault.  One  ought  to  lie  down  and  croak  when  one's  no  longer 
able  to  work.* 

*  Really,'  said  Lorilleux,  who  was  listening,  *  I  don't 
understand  why  the  Government  doesn't  come  to  the  aid  of 
the  invalids  of  labour.  I  was  reading  that  in  a  newspaper  the 
other  day.* 

But  Poisson  thought  it  his  duty  to  defend  the  Government. 
'  Workmen  are  not  soldiers,'  he  declared.  *  The  Invalides  is 
for  soldiers.     You  mustn't  ask  for  impossibilities.' 

The  dessert  was  now  served.  In  the  centre  of  the  table 
was  a  Savoy  cake  in  the  form  of  a  temple,  with  its  dome  fluted 
like  a  melon ;  and  this  dome  was  surmounted  by  an  artificial  rose, 
among  the  petals  of  which,  in  imitation  of  dew,  there  nestled 
two  drops  of  gum,  while  near  by  a  butterfly  of  silver  paper 
fluttered  from  the  end  of  a  wire.  Then,  on  the  left  hand,  a 
piece  of  cream  cheese  was  floating  in  a  deep  dish  ;  whilst,  in 
another  dish  on  the  right,  were  piled  some  large  bruised 
strawberries,  whose  juice  was  running  from  them.  However, 
there  was  still  some  salad  left,  some  large  lettuce  leaves  soaked 
in  oil. 

*  Come,  Madame  Boche,*  said  Gervaise,  coaxingly,  *  a  little 
more  salad.    I  know  how  fond  you  are  of  it.* 

'  No,  no,  thank  you  !  I've  already  had  as  much  as  I  can 
manage,'  replied  the  door-keeper. 

Then,  as  the  laundress  turned  towards  Virginie,  the  latter 
put  her  finger  into  her  mouth,  as  though  to  touch  the  food  she 
had  taken.  *  Really  now,  I'm  full,'  she  murmured.  *  There's 
no  room  left.    I  couldn't  swallow  a  mouthful.* 

*  Oh  1  but  if  you  tried  a  little,'  resumed  Gervaise  with  a. 
gmile.     *  One  can  always  find  a  tiny  comer.     One  doesn't 


2o8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

need  to  be  hungry  to  eat  salad.    You're  surely  not  going  to 
let  this  be  wasted  ?  ' 

*  You  can  eat  it  to-morrow  pickled,*  said  Madame  Lerat ; 
*  it's  nicer  so.' 

The  ladies  puffed  as  they  looked  regretfully  at  the  salad- 
bowl.  Cl^mence  related  that  she  had  one  day  eaten  three 
bunches  of  water-cresses  at  her  lunch.  Madame  Putois  could 
do  more  than  that,  she  would  take  a  coss  lettuce,  and  munch 
it  with  salt  just  as  it  was,  without  picking  it  to  pieces.  They 
could  all  have  lived  on  salad,  would  have  treated  themselves 
to  tubf  uls,  had  it  been  possible.  And,  this  conversation  aiding, 
the  ladies  at  last  cleaned  out  the  salad-bowl. 

*  I  could  go  on  all-fours  in  a  meadow,'  observed  the  door- 
keeper, with  her  mouth  full. 

Then  they  chuckled  as  they  eyed  the  dessert.  Dessert  did 
not  count.  It  came  rather  late,  but  no  matter ;  they  would 
caress  it  all  the  same.  Even  if  they  should  burst  like  bomb- 
shells, they  could  not  allow  themselves  to  be  humbugged  by 
cake  and  strawberries.  Besides,  there  was  no  hurry  ;  they 
had  plenty  of  time,  all  night  if  they  pleased.  Meanwhile, 
they  filled  their  plates  with  cream  cheese  and  strawberries. 
The  men,  moreover,  lit  their  pipes  ;  and,  as  the  sealed  bottles  of 
wine  were  now  empty,  they  returned  to  the  common  wine,  and 
drank  it  as  they  smoked.  However,  everybody  wished  Gervaise 
to  cut  the  Savoy  cake  at  once.  Poissongot  up,  took  the  rose,  and, 
amidst  the  applause  of  the  whole  company,  very  gallantly 
presented  it  to  the  lady  in  whose  honour  the  feast  was  given. 
She  had  to  fix  it  with  a  pin  on  the  left  side  of  her  dress,  over 
her  heart ;  and  at  each  movement  she  made,  the  butterfly 
fluttered  about. 

'  I  say  1 '  exclaimed  Lorilleux,  who  had  just  made  a 
discovery,  *  why,  it's  your  work-table  that  we're  eating  off. 
Ah  well !  I  dare  say  it's  never  seen  so  much  work  before  ! ' 

This  malicious  joke  met  with  great  success.  Witty  allu- 
sions came  from  all  sides.  Clemence  could  no  longer 
swallow  a  spoonful  of  strawberries  without  saying  that  it  was 
another  shirt  ironed ;  Madame  Lerat  pretended  that  the 
cream  cheese  smelt  of  starch  ;  whilst  Madame  Lorilleux  mut- 
tered between  her  teeth  that  it  was  a  fine  idea  to  gobble  up 
money  so  quickly  on  the  very  boards  on  which  one  had  had 
so  much  trouble  to  earn  it.  There  was  quite  a  tempest  of 
shouts  ind  laughter. 

But  all  at  once  a  loud  voice  called  for  silence.    It  was  Boche 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON       209 

who,  standing  up  in  an  affected,  vulgar  attitude,  was  beginning 
to  sing  *  The  Volcano  of  Love,  or  the  Seductive  Trooper.' 

*  'Tis  I,  Blavin,  enthraller  of  the  fair — ' 

A  thunder  of  applause  greeted  the  first  verse.  Yes,  yes,  they 
would  sing  songs !  Each  in  turn.  It  was  the  best  of  all 
amusements.  Then  they  set  their  elbows  on  the  table,  or 
leaned  back  in  their  chairs,  nodding  at  the  best  parts,  and 
sipping  their  wine  when  they  came  to  the  choruses.  That 
rogue  Boche  had  a  special  gift  for  comic  songs.  He  would 
almost  make  the  very  water-bottles  laugh  when  he  imitated 
the  raw  recruit,  with  his  fingers  apart,  and  his  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  Immediately  after  '  The  Volcano  of  Love,* 
he  burst  into  *  The  Baroness  de  FoUebiche,'  one  of  his 
greatest  successes.  When  he  reached  the  third  verse  ha 
turned  towards  Clemence,  and  repeated  in  a  slow  and  volup- 
tuous voice : 

*  The  baroness  had  people  there, 

Her  sisters  four,  oh  !  rare  surprise : 
And  three  were  dark  and  one  was  fair! 
Between  them,  eight  bewitching  eyes.* 

Then  the  whole  company,  carried  away,  joined  in  the 
chorus.  The  men  beat  time  with  their  heels,  whilst  the 
ladies  tapped  their  knives  against  their  glasses.  And  all  of 
them  yelled : 

♦  By  Jingo  I  who  on  earth  will  pay 

A  drink  to  the  pa — to  the  pa — pa — ? 
By  Jingo !  who  on  earth  will  pay 
A  drink  to  the  pa — to  the  pa — tro — 0— 1  ? ' 

The  glass  panes  of  the  shop-front  resounded,  and  the 
mushn  curtains  were  stirred  by  the  great  volume  of  breath 
from  the  vocalists.  Meanwhile,  however,  Virginie  had  already 
twice  disappeared,  and  each  time  on  returning  had  leant 
towards  Gervaise  to  whisper  some  information  in  her  ear. 
"When  she  came  back  the  third  time,  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
uproar,  she  said  to  her  :  *  My  dear,  he's  still  at  Fran9ois's ; 
he's  pretending  to  read  the  newspaper.  He's  certainly  medi- 
tating some  trickery  or  other.' 

She  was  speaking  of  Lantier,  for  it  was  he  that  she  had 
been  watching.  At  each  fresh  report,  Gervaise  became  more 
and  more  grave. 

*  Is  he  drunk  ?  '  she  asked  Virginie. 

*  No,'  replied  the  tall  brunette.  '  He  looks  as  though  he 
had  just  had  enough.     And  it's  particularly  that  which  makes 


2IO  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

me  anxious.  Why  does  he  remain  there  if  he's  had  all  he 
wanted  ?  Good  heavens  I  I  hope  nothing  is  going  to  happen  I ' 
The  laundress,  feehng  greatly  upset,  begged  her  to  be  quiet. 
Profound  silence  had  suddenly  succeeded  the  general  clamour. 
Madame  Putois  had  risen,  and  was  about  to  sing  *  The  Board- 
ing of  the  Pirate.*  The  company  silently  and  gravely  watched 
her ;  even  Poisson  had  laid  his  pipe  on  the  edge  of  the  table, 
the  better  to  Usten  to  her.  She  drew  up  her  little  figure 
stiffly  and  fiercely,  her  face  quite  pale  beneath  her  black  cap, 
and  she  thrust  out  her  left  fist  with  confident  pride,  as  she 
thundered  in  a  voice  bigger  than  herself : 

*  If  pirate  audacious 

Should  o'er  the  waves  chase  as, 
The  buccaneer  slaughter  I 

Accord  him  no  quarter  1 
To  the  guns  every  man  I 

And  with  rum  fill  each  can  ! 
May  these  pests  of  the  seas 

Dangle  from  the  cross-trees  1  • 

That  was  something  serious.  But,  dash  it  all  I  it  gave  one 
a  fine  idea  of  the  real  thing.  Poisson,  who  had  been  on 
board  ship,  nodded  his  head  in  approval  of  the  local  colouring. 
One  could  see,  too,  that  the  song  accorded  with  Madame 
Putois' s  own  feelings.  Coupeau  leant  forward  to  relate  how 
one  night  in  the  Kue  Poulet,  Madame  Putois  had  boxed  the 
ears  of  four  men  who  had  attempted  to  insult  her. 

With  the  assistance  of  Mother  Coupeau,  Gervaise  was  now 
serving  the  coflfee,  though  some  of  the  guests  had  not  yet 
finished  their  Savoy  cake.  They  would  not  let  her  sit  down 
again,  but  shouted  that  it  was  her  turn  next.  Pale  and  ill  at 
ease,  she  tried  to  excuse  herself ;  so  queer  to  all  appearance 
that  some  inquired  if  the  goose  had  disagreed  with  her.  And 
thereupon  she  repeated,  *  Oh  I  Let  me  Slumber  I '  in  a  sweet 
but  feeble  voice.  When  she  reached  the  refrain  :  *  'Tis  a  sweet 
dream,  oh,  let  me  sleep  for  aye,'  that  prayer  for  a  continuance 
of  blissful  repose,  her  eyelids  fell  and  her  rapt  gaze  wandered 
into  the  darkness  of  the  street.  Directly  afterwards,  Poisson 
abruptly  saluted  the  ladies  and  started  a  drinking  song,  the 
*  Wines  of  France,'  but  he  had  a  voice  like  a  squirt,  and  only 
the  last  verse,  the  patriotic  one,  met  with  any  success,  because 
when  alluding  to  the  tricolour  flag,  he  raised  his  glass  on  high, 
poised  it  there  for  a  moment,  and  ended  by  pouring  the 
contents  into  his  open  mouth. 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON        211 

Then  came  a  string  of  ballads :  Madame  Boche's  barcarolle 
was  all  about  Venice  and  the  gondoliers  ;  Madame  Lorilleux 
sang  of  Seville  and  the  Andalusian  beauties  in  her  bolero  ; 
whilst  Lorilleux  went  so  far  as  to  allude  to  the  perfumes  of 
Araby,  in  connection  with  the  loves  of  Fatma,  the  dancer. 
All  around  the  greasy  table,  in  the  atmosphere  reeking  with 
the  fumes  of  indigestion,  there  spread  a  golden  horizon. 
Ivory  necks  and  ebon  tresses,  kisses  of  the  midnight  hour  ex- 
changed amid  the  twanging  of  guitars,  bayaderes,  scattering 
pearls  and  rabies  where  they  trod — each  flitted  by  in  turn 
while  the  men  blissfully  smoked  their  pipes,  and  the  ladies 
languorously  smiled.  All  fancied  themselves  far  away  yonder, 
sniffing  delicious  odours.  When  Clemence  began  to  warble 
'  Build  ye  a  Nest,'  with  a  tremolo  of  the  throat,  she  likewise 
caused  much  pleasure ;  for  her  song  recalled  the  country,  the 
merry  birds,  the  sweet-scented  flowers,  the  dances  beneath  the 
greenery — in  short,  all  that  one  saw  in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes 
when  one  went  thither  for  a  day's  outing. 

However,  Virginie  revived  the  joking  with  *  My  little  Drop 
of  Brandy ; '  in  singing  which  she  imitated  a  sutler  girl 
with  her  left  hand  on  her  hip,  and  her  elbow  arched,  to 
indicate  the  little  barrel  which  she  was  supposed  to  carry ; 
while  with  the  right  hand  she  pretended  to  turn  on  the  barrel 
tap,  by  twisting  her  left  wrist.  And  she  did  the  pantomime 
business  so  well  that  the  company  next  begged  Mother  Coupeau 
to  sing  '  The  Mouse.'  The  old  woman  refused,  vowing  that  she 
did  not  know  it ;  yet  she  at  last  started  ofl:  with  the  remnants 
of  her  broken  voice ;  and  her  wrinkled  face  and  lively  little 
syes  gave  comic  expression  to  the  terrors  of  Mademoiselle 
Lise,  drawing  her  skirts  around  her  at  the  sight  of  a  mouse. 
The  whole  table  roared ;  the  women  could  not  keep  their 
countenances.  However,  Boche  began  to  manifest  such 
admiration  for  the  plump  charcoal-dealer  that  something  un- 
pleasant might  have  happened  if  Goujet,  on  a  sign  from  Ger- 
vaise,  had  not  restored  silence  and  decorum  by  thundering 
*  Abd-el-Kader's  Farewell '  in  his  full  bass  voice.  It  was  very 
evident  that  his  lungs  were  sound.  The  song  rang  out  from 
amidst  his  beautiful  yellow  beard,  as  from  a  brass  trumpet. 
When  he  uttered  the  cry,  *  0  my  noble  companion !  *  thus 
apostrophising  the  warrior's  famous  black  mare,  all  hearts 
beat  with  him.  He  was  applauded  before  reaching  the  end, 
for  he  had  shouted  so  louoi. 

p2 


212  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

*  Now,  old  Bru,  it's  your  turn !  '  said  Mother  Coupeau. 
*  Sing  your  song.     The  old  ones  are  the  best,  any  day !  ' 

Forthwith  everybody  turned  towards  the  old  man,  pressing 
and  encouraging  him.  He,  in  a  state  of  torpor,  his  tanned 
face  quite  expressionless,  looked  at  them  without  appearing  to 
understand.  They  asked  him  if  he  knew  the  *  Five  vowels.* 
He  lowered  his  head  as  if  to  reflect ;  no,  he  could  not  recollect 
it ;  all  the  songs  of  the  good  old  days  had  become  mixed  up  in 
his  noddle.  However,  just  as  they  made  up  their  minds  to 
leave  him  alone,  he  seemed  to  remember,  and  began  to  stutter 
in  a  cavernous  voice . 

*  Trou  la  la,  trou  la  la, 

Trou  la,  trou  la,  trou  la  la  1 ' 

Then  his  face  assumed  a  more  animated  expression,  as  if 
this  refrain  recalled  some  far-off  gaiety  which  he  alone  tasted, 
while  listening  with  childish  delight  to  hi^  own  hollow 
voice : 

*  Trou  la  la,  trou  la  la, 

Trou  la,  trou  la,  trou  la  la ! ' 

*  I  say,  my  dear,*  whispered  Virginie  at  that  moment  in 
Gervaise's  ear,  *  I've  just  been  there  again,  you  know.  It 
worried  me.     Well !  Lantier  has  gone  off  from  Fran9ois's.' 

*  You  didn't  see  him  outside  ?  '  asked  the  laundress. 

*  No,  I  walked  quick,  I  didn't  think  of  looking,'  began  the 
other,  but  all  at  once,  after  raising  her  eyes,  she  paused, 
restraining  an  exclamation  of  surprise  :  *  Ah,  good  heavens  ! 
He's  there,  on  the  pavement  opposite ;  he's  looking  this  way.' 

Gervaise,  though  she  was  quite  aghast,  ventured  to  glance 
in  the  direction  indicated.  Several  persons  had  now  collected 
in  the  street  to  hear  the  company  sing.  The  grocer's  men, 
the  tripe-dealer  and  the  little  clockmaker  were  grouped  to- 
gether as  if  at  a  theatre.  There  were  some  soldiers,  too,  some 
gentlemen  in  frock-coats,  and  three  little  girls  from  five 
to  six  years  old,  who  held  one  another  by  the  hand,  looking 
grave  and  wonder-struck.  And  Lantier  was  indeed  there  in 
the  front  row,  coolly  listening  and  looking  on.  It  was  rare 
cheek  on  his  part,  and  no  mistake !  Gervaise  felt  a  chill 
ascend  to  her  heart,  and  no  longer  dared  to  move,  whilst  old 
Bru  contmued : 

*  Trou  la  la,  trou  la  la, 

Trou  la,  trou  la,  trou  la  la  1 ' 

'  Ah  well  I   no,  my  ancient  one,  that's   enough ! '    said 


THE  FEAST  AAD   THE  SKELETON       213 

Coupeau.  *  Do  you  know  the  whole  of  it  ?  You  shall  sing  it 
to  us  another  day,  eh  I  when  we're  too  lively.' 

This  raised  a  laugh.  The  old  fellow  stopped  short, 
glanced  round  the  table  with  his  pale  eyes,  and  then  reverted 
to  the  posture  of  a  meditative  animal.  The  coffee  had  now 
all  been  drunk,  and  the  zinc-worker  had  asked  for  more  wine, 
while  Cl^mence  had  returned  to  the  strawberries.  For  an 
instant,  the  singing  ceased  and  they  talked  of  a  woman  who 
had  been  found  hanging  that  morning  in  the  house  next 
door.  It  was  Madame  Lerat's  turn  to  give  a  song,  but  she 
required  time  to  prepare  herself.  She  dipped  a  corner  of  her 
napkin  into  a  glass  of  water  and  applied  it  to  her  temples,  as 
she  felt  too  hot.  Then,  she  asked  for  a  thimbleful  of  brandy, 
drank  it,  and  slowly  wiped  her  lips. 

'  The  '*  Child  of  God,"  eh  ? '  she  murmured,  *  the  '*  Child  of 
God." ' 

And,  tall  and  masculine-looking,  with  her  bony  nose  and 
her  shoulders  as  square  as  a  grenadier's,  she  began  to  sing 

*  The  lost  child  left  by  its  mother  alone, 

Is  sure  of  a  home  in  Heaven  above, 
God  sees  and  protects  it  on  earth  from  His  throne. 
The  child  that  is  lost  is  the  child  of  God's  love.' 

Her  voice  trembled  at  certain  words,  with  prolonged  liquid 
notes  ;  and  she  raised  her  eyes  slantwise  to  heaven,  whilst  her 
right  hand  swung  before  her  chest  or  pressed  her  heart  with 
affecting  gestures.  Then  Gervaise,  tortured  by  Lantier's 
presence,  could  not  restrain  her  tears ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if 
the  song  expressed  her  own  suffering,  that  she  was  the  lost, 
forsaken  child,  whom  God  was  going  to  take  under  His  pro- 
tection. Clemence,  who  was  very  drunk,  suddenly  broke  into 
sobs  ;  and,  with  hej*  head  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  stifled  her 
hiccoughs  with  the  cloth.  A  quivering  silence  reigned  among 
the  company.  The  ladies  had  produced  their  handkerchiefs, 
and  were  wiping  their  eyes  without  averting  their  faces, 
proud  as  they  were  of  their  emotion.  The  men,  their  heads 
slightly  bowed,  looked  straight  before  them,  blinking. 
Poisson,  choking  and  grinding  his  teeth,  twice  broke  off  a 
piece  of  his  pipe,  and  spat  the  bits  upon  the  floor,  without 
ceasing  to  smoke  ;  but  Boche  left  off  ogling  the  charcoal- 
dealer,  mastered  as  he  was  by  vague  remorse  and  respect, 
which  made  two  big  tears  trickle  down  his  cheeks.  Those 
revellers  were  as  rigid  as  justice,  and  as  tender-hearted  as 


214  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

lambs.  The  wine  was  coming  out  by  way  of  their  eyes,  that 
was  all  I  When  the  chorus  started  again,  with  slov/er  and 
more  pathetic  rhythm,  all  gave  way  and  blubbered  into  their 
plates,  unfastening  their  clothes,  and  bursting  with  emotion. 

But  Gervaise  and  Virginie,  in  spite  of  themselves,  could  not 
take  their  eyes  off  the  opposite  pavement.  Madame  Boche, 
in  her  turn,  caught  sight  of  Lantier  and  uttered  a  faint 
cry,  while  still  smearing  her  face  with  her  tears.  Then, 
all  three  began  to  look  very  anxious  as  they  exchanged 
involuntary  signs.  Good  heavens  !  if  Coupeau  should  turn 
round,  if  Coupeau  should  see  the  other  1  What  butchery ! 
what  carnage  1  And  they  went  on  to  such  an  extent,  that 
the  zinc-worker  asked  them  :  '  Whatever  are  you  looking  at  ?  ' 

Then  in  his  turn  leaning  forward  he  recognised  Lantier. 
*  Blazes  I  '  he  muttered,  '  that's  too  strong.  Ah  !  the  dirty 
scoundrel — the  dirty  scoundrel.  That's  too  much,  it  must 
come  to  an  end.'  And,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat  muttering 
atrocious  threats,  Gervaise  in  a  low  voice  entreated  him  to 
keep  quiet :  '  Listen  to  me,  I  implore  you.  Leave  the  knife 
alone.     Kemain  where  you  are,  don't  do  anything  dreadful.' 

Virginie  had  to  snatch  away  the  knife  which  he  had 
picked  off  the  table.  But  she  could  not  prevent  him  from 
leaving  the  shop  and  going  up  to  Lantier.  The  others,  in 
their  increasing  emotion,  saw  nothing  of  all  this,  but  wept 
the  more ;  whilst  Madame  Lerat  sang  with  an  excruciating 
expression  : 

•  Poor  orphan  girl,  so  lost,  so  lone, 
With  none  to  hear  her  piteous  moan 
Save  the  tall  trees  and  passing  wind.' 

The  last  line  sounded  like  the  woeful  shriek  of  a  tempest. 
Madame  Putois,  who  was  drinking,  was  so  affected  by  it  that 
she  spilt  her  wine  on  the  tablecloth.  Gervaise,  however, 
remained  as  though  frozen,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  mouth 
to  prevent  herself  from  calling  out,  blinking  with  fright,  and 
expecting  at  every  second  to  see  one  of  the  two  men  outside 
knocked  down  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Virginie  and 
Madame  Boche  also  followed  the  scene,  deeply  interested 
in  it.  Coupeau,  surprised  by  the  fresh  air,  had  almost 
fallen  plump  in  the  gutter,  on  trying  to  rush  upon 
Lantier.  The  latter,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  had 
simply  moved  aside.  And  the  two  men  were  now  reviling 
each  other,  the  zinc-worker  in  particular  employing  the 
coarsest  expressions.    One  could  hear  their  wild  voices,  and 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON       215 

distinguish  the  furious  gestures  they  made,  as  though  they  were 
bent  on  swinging  their  arms  off.  Gervaise  felt  faint,  and 
shut  her  eyes,  because  the  row  was  lasting  too  long,  and  she 
expected  at  every  minute  to  see  them  biting  each  other's 
noses  off,  so  close  together  did  they  thrust  their  faces.  Then, 
as  she  no  longer  heard  anything,  she  opened  her  eyes  again, 
and  felt  quite  confused  on  seeing  them  quietly  conversing. 

But  Madame  Lerat's  voice  rose  in  warbling,  tearful 
accents,  as  she  commenced  another  verse  : 

•  Next  morn,  exhausted  on  the  ground, 
The  poor  lost  child  half  dead  was  found.* 

*  Some  women  are  indeed  brutes  I '  said  Madame 
Lorilleux,  amidst  general  approbation. 

Gervaise  had  just  exchanged  a  glance  with  Madame  Boche 
and  Virginie.  Were  matters  going  to  end  amicably  then  ? 
Coupeau  and  Lantier  were  continuing  their  conversation  on 
the  kerb-stones.  They  were  still  pouring  forth  abuse,  but  in 
a  friendly  way.  They  called  one  another  *  rogue,'  in  a  tone 
of  voice  which  had  a  touch  of  affection  in  it.  And  as  people 
stared  at  them,  they  ended  by  strolHng  leisurely  alongside  the 
houses,  turning  round  again  every  ten  yards  or  so.  All  at  once, 
however,  their  conversation  became  more  animated,  and 
Coupeau  appeared  to  get  angry  again,  as  the  other  resisted 
some  request  made  of  him.  Finally,  however,  the  zinc- 
worker  pushed  Lantier  along,  and  forced  him  to  cross  the 
street  and  enter  the  shop. 

'  I  tell  you  it's  with  a  good  heart  I '  he  shouted.  *  You 
must  drink  a  glass  of  wine.  Men  are  men,  you  know. 
People  ought  to  understand  one  another.* 

Madame  Lerat  had  now  got  to  the  last  refrain,  and  the 
ladies,  while  twisting  their  handkerchiefs,  were  singing  in 
chorus : 

'The  child  that  is  lost  is  the  child  of  God's  love.* 

The  singer  was  greatly  complimented  as  she  resumed 
her  seat,  affecting  to  be  quite  broken  down.  She  asked 
for  something  to  drink,  because,  she  said,  she  always  put 
so  much  feeling  into  that  song,  that  she  ran  the  risk  of 
overstraining  her  nerves.  The  others,  however,  now  had 
their  eyes  on  Lantier,  who,  sitting  quietly  beside  Coupeau, 
was  devouring  the  last  piece  of  Savoy  cake  which  he  dipped 
in  his  glass  of  wine.  With  the  exception  of  Virginie  and 
Madame  Boche,  none  of  the  guests  were  acquainted  with 


2x6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

him.  The  Lorilleux  certainly  scented  some  underhand 
business,  but  not  knowing  what  it  might  be,  they  merely 
pursed  their  lips.  On  the  other  hand,  Goujet,  who  had 
noticed  Gervaise's  emotion,  gave  the  new-comer  a  sour 
look.  And  as  an  awkward  pause  ensued,  Coupeau  simply 
said :  *  A  friend  of  mine.*  And  turning  to  his  wife  he 
added  :  *  Come,  stir  yourself  1  Perhaps  there's  still  some 
hot  coffee  left.* 

Gervaise,  feeling  meek  and  stupid,  looked  at  them  one 
after  the  other.  At  first,  when  her  husband  had  pushed  her 
old  lover  into  the  shop,  she  had  hidden  her  head  with 
both  hands,  just  as  she  instinctively  did  on  stormy  days,  at 
each  clap  of  thunder.  She  could  not  believe  it  possible  ;  the 
walls  would  surely  fall  and  crush  them  all  I  Then,  seeing 
the  two  men  seated  there,  without  so  much  as  the  muslin 
curtains  moving,  she  suddenly  thought  it  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world.  The  goose  was  slightly  disagreeing  with 
her  ;  she  had  certainly  eaten  too  much  of  it,  and  it  prevented 
her  from  thinking.  A  happy  feeling  of  languor  benumbed 
her,  kept  her  huddled  up  at  the  edge  of  the  table,  with  but 
one  desire — that  she  might  not  be  worried.  And  indeed,  why, 
mon  Dieu,  should  one  put  oneself  out  when  others  don't,  and 
things  to  all  appearance  arrange  themselves  to  general 
satisfaction?  She  got  up  to  see  if  there  was  any  coffee 
left. 

In  the  back-room  the  children  had  now  fallen  asleep. 
That  squint-eyed  Augustine  had  tyrannised  over  them  during 
the  dessert,  pilfering  their  strawberries  and  frightening  them 
with  the  most  abominable  threats.  Now,  she  herself  felt 
very  ill,  and  was  crouching  in  silence  on  a  stool,  her  face 
ghastly  pale.  Chubby  Pauline  had  let  her  head  fall  against 
[Etienne's  shoulder,  and  he  himself  was  sleeping  at  the  edge 
of  the  table.  Nana  was  seated  on  the  rug  beside  the  bed- 
stead, close  to  Victor,  whom  she  held  in  a  tight  embrace, 
with  one  arm  round  his  neck.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  she 
seemed  half  asleep,  still  she  kept  on  repeating  in  a  feeble 
voice :  *  Oh ;  mamma,  I'm  not  well ;  oh  1  mamma,  I'm  not 
well.* 

*  No  wonder  I '  murmured  Augustine,  whose  head  was 
swaying  on  her  shoulders,  '  they're  fuddled ;  they've  been 
singing  like  grown;up  persons.' 

The  sight  of  Etienne  proved  another  blow  for  Gervaise. 
She  felt  as  though  she  would  choke  when  she  thought  that 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETON       217 

the  youngster's  father  was  there,  in  that  other  room, 
munching  cake,  and  had  not  even  expressed  ^a  desire  to  kiss 
the  lad.  She  was  on  the  point  of  rousing  Etienne,  and  of 
carrying  him  into  the  shop  in  her  arms.  But  once  again  she 
felt  pleased  with  the  quiet  way  in  which  matters  had  been 
arranged.  It  would  not  be  proper  to  disturb  the  harmony  of 
the  evening.  So  she  simply  went  back  with  the  coffee-pot 
and  poured  out  some  coffee  for  Lantier,  who,  by  the  way,  did 
not  appear  to  notice  her. 

*  Now,  it's  my  turn,*  stuttered  Coupeau  in  a  thick  voice. 
*  Eh  1  you've  been  keeping  me  for  the  tit-bit.  Well !  I'll  sing 
you  *♦  What  a  Piggish  Child  ! '" 

'  Yes,  yes,  "  What  a  Piggish  Child  I  "  '  cried  the  whole 
company. 

Then  the  uproar  began  again,  and  Lantier  was  forgotten. 
The  ladies  got  their  glasses  and  knives  ready,  so  as  to  accom- 
pany the  chorus.  They  laughed  beforehand,  on  looking  at 
the  zinc-worker,  who  steadied  himself  on  his  legs  in  a  vulgar 
way,  and  then,  mimicking  the  hoarse  voice  of  an  old  woman, 
began : 

*  When  out  of  bed  each  mom  I  hop, 
As  I'm  always  precious  queer, 
I  send  him  for  a  little  drop 

To  the  drinking-ken  that's  near. 
A  good  half -hour  or  more  he'll  stay; 

But  what  makes  me  most  riled, 
He  swigs  quite  half  upon  his  way : 
What  a  piggish  child  1 ' 

Then  the  ladies,  striking  their  glasses,  repeated  in  chorus? 
amidst  terrific  mirth : 

*  What  a  piggish  child  I 
What  a  piggish  child  1 ' 

Even  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  itself  joined  in  now. 
The  whole  neighbourhood  began  to  sing,  *  What  a  piggish 
child  1 '  Across  the  road  the  little  clockmaker,  the  grocer's 
men,  the  tripedealer,  and  the  greengrocer,  who  knew  the 
song,  took  up  the  chorus,  smacking  one  another  the  while 
just  by  way  of  a  lark.  Eeally  the  very  street  was  getting  in- 
toxicated ;  the  bacchanalian  fumes  which  emanated  from  the 
shop  sufficed  to  make  even  the  bystanders  merry.  It  should 
be  said  that  the  entire  party  inside  was  now  completely 
fuddled.  Intoxication  had  gradually  grown  and  spread  ever 
Bince  the  first  little  drop  of  pure  wine  following  the  soup. 


2i8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

And  at  present  the  climax  was  reached  ;  they  were  all  bray- 
ing and  bursting  with  what  they  had  sv/allowed,  in  the  red- 
dish haze  diffused  by  the  lamps,  which  required  to  be  wound 
up.  Such  was  the  clamour  of  this  gigantic  spree  that  it 
completely  drowned  the  rumbling  of  the  last  passing  vehicles. 
Two  policemen,  thinking  that  there  was  a  riot,  hastened 
to  the  spot ;  but  on  catching  sight  of  Poisson,  they  just 
nodded  to  him  in  a  knowing  way,  and  then  slowly  moved  off, 
side  by  side,  past  the  dark  houses. 

Coupeau  was  now  singing  this  verse : 

♦  On  Sundays  at  Petite  Villette, 

Whene'er  the  weather's  fine, 
We  call  on  uncle,  old  Tinette, 

Who's  in  the  dustman  line. 
To  gorge  himself  with  cherry  stones 

The  young  un  gets  that  wild, 
He  rolls  among  the  dust  and  bones : 

What  a  piggish  child  1 

What  a  piggish  child  I  • 

Then  the  house  almost  collapped,  such  a  yell  ascended 
into  the  calm,  warm  night  air  that  the  shouters  applauded 
themselves,  for  it  was  useless  to  hope  that  they  would  be 
able  to  bawl  any  louder. 

Not  one  of  the  company  could  ever  recollect  exactly  how 
the  carouse  terminated.  It  must  have  come  to  an  end  at  a 
very  late  hour,  that  was  quite  certain,  for  not  a  cat  was  to 
be  seen  in  the  street.  Possibly,  too,  it  was  a  fact  that  they 
had  all  joined  hands  and  danced  round  the  table.  However, 
those  who  fancied  that  they  remembered  some  such  scene 
could  only  picture  a  yellow  mist,  in  which  red  faces  bobbed 
about,  with  mouths  distended  from  ear  to  ear.  One  thing 
was  certain,  that  hot  as  they  were,  they  had  treated  them- 
selves to  some  mulled  wine  towards  the  end,  but  there  was 
a  vague  suspicion  that  somebody  had  played  the  trick  of 
dropping  some  salt  into  the  glasses.  The  children  must 
have  undressed  and  put  themselves  to  bed.  On  the  morrow, 
Madame  Boche  boasted  of  having  treated  Boche  to  a  couple 
of  clouts  on  account  of  his  impudence  to  the  charcoal- 
dealer's  wife ;  but  Boche,  who  recollected  nothing  of  the 
matter,  declared  that  she  must  have  dreamt  it.  What  every- 
one agreed  was  not  at  all  decent,  was  the  behaviour  of 
Cl^mence,  who,  on  feeling  indisposed,  had  in  no  wise  at- 
tempted to  conceal  it,  whereas  the  others  had  very  properly 


THE  FEAST  AND   THE  SKELETOA        219 

retired.  At  the  end  the  whole  company  had  seemingly 
melted  away,  disappearing  one  behind  the  other  in  the  sur- 
rounding darkness,  amidst  a  final  uproar,  a  furious  quarrel 
between  the  Lorilleux,  and  an  obstinate  and  mournful  *  trou 
la  la,  trou  la  la,*  from  old  Bru.  Gervaise  had  an  idea  that 
Goujet  had  burst  out  sobbing  when  bidding  her  good-bye  ; 
Coupeau  was  then  still  singing  ;  and  as  for  Lantier,  he  must 
have  remained  till  the  end.  She  could  still  recall  indeed 
that  her  hair  had  at  one  moment  been  stirred  by  a  sudden 
whiff,  but  whether  this  had  come  from  Lantier*s  lips  or  from 
the  warm  night  she  was  unable  to  say. 

As  Madame  Lerat  refused  to  return  to  BatignoUes  at 
that  late  hour  they  took  a  mattress  off  the  bed,  and  spread 
it  in  a  corner  of  the  shop,  after  pushing  the  table  on  one 
side.  And  there  she  slept,  amidst  the  crumbs  from  the 
feast.  And  throughout  the  remainder  of  the  night,  while  the 
Coupeaus  slumbered  heavily,  working  off  the  effects  of  all  their 
jimketting,  a  neighbour's  cat,  taking  advantage  of  a  window 
which  had  been  left  open,  crunched  up  the  goose  bones, 
making  a  complete  finish  of  the  bird  with  the  faint,  con- 
tinuous munching  of  its  sharp  teeth. 


THE   WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTEB 

On  the  followmg  Saturday,  Coupeau,  who  had  not  come 
home  to  dinner,  brought  Lantier  with  him  towards  ten 
o'clock.  They  had  treated  themselves  to  some  sheep's  trotters 
at  Thomas's  at  Montmartre.  *  You  mustn't  scold,  old 
woman,'  said  the  zinc-worker.  '  We're  all  right,  as  you  can 
see.  Oh  I  there's  no  fear  with  him ;  he  keeps  one  in  the 
straight  road.' 

Then  he  related  how  they  had  happened  to  meet  in  the 
Rue  Rochechouart.  After  dinner  Lantier  had  declined  to 
have  a  drink  at  the  'Black  Ball,'  saying  that  when  a  man 
was  married  to  a  pretty  and  worthy  little  woman,  he  ought 
not  to  go  liquoring-up  at  every  wine-shop.  Gervaise  smiled 
slightly  as  she  listened.  Oh !  she  was  not  thinking  of 
scolding  ;  she  felt  too  much  embarrassed  for  that.  Ever 
Bince  the  feast,  she  had  been  expecting  to  see  her  old  lover 


220  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

again,  some  day  or  other  ;  but  tlie  sudden  arrival  of  tbe  two 
men  at  such  an  hour,  just  at  bedtime,  had  taken  her  by 
surprise  ;  and  with  trembhng  hands  she  fastened  up  her  back 
hair,  which  had  rolled  down  her  neck. 

*  Well,  do  you  know,'  resumed  Coupeau,  *  as  he  was  so 
discreet  as  to  refuse  a  drink  out  of  doors,  you  must  treat  us 
to  one  here.     Ah  !  you  certainly  owe  us  that  1  ' 

The  workwomen  had  been  gone  a  long  while,  and  Mother 
Coupeau  and  Nana  had  just  got  into  bed.  So  Gervaise,  who 
had  been  on  the  point  of  putting  up  the  shutters  when 
the  men  appeared,  left  the  shop  open,  and  fetched  some 
glasses  and  a  bottle  containing  a  little  brandy,  which  she 
placed  on  a  corner  of  the  work-table.  Lantier  remained 
standing,  and  avoided  speaking  to  her  direct.  However, 
when  she  helped  him,  he  exclaimed :  *  Only  a  thimbleful, 
madame,  if  you  please.' 

At  this  Coupeau  looked  at  them,  and  spoke  his  mind 
very  plainly.  They  were  not  going  to  behave  like  geese,  he 
hoped  1  The  past  was  past,  was  it  not  ?  If  people  nursed 
grudges  for  nine  and  ten  years  together,  they  would  end  by 
seeing  nobody  at  all.  No,  no,  he  carried  his  heart  in  his 
hand,  he  did  !  Besides,  he  knew  whom  he  had  to  deal  with, 
a  worthy  woman  and  a  worthy  man — in  short,  two  friends  1 
He  felt  easy,  for  he  knew  that  he  could  depend  upon  them. 

*  Oh  I  that's  certain,  quite  certain,'  repeated  Gervaise, 
lowering  her  eyes,  and  scarcely  understanding  what  she  said. 

*  She  is  a  sister  now — nothing  but  a  sister ! '  murmured 
Lantier  in  his  turn. 

*  Dash  it  all !  shake  hands,'  cried  Coupeau,  *  and  let  those 
who  don't  like  it  go  to  blazes  I  When  people  have  proper 
feelings,  they  are  better  off  than  millionaires.  For  my  part 
I  place  friendship  before  every thmg,  because  friendship  is 
friendship,  and  there's  nothing  to  beat  it.' 

So  saying  he  dealt  himself  several  heavy  blows  on  the 
chest,  and  seemed  so  moved  that  they  had  to  calm  him.  They 
all  three  silently  chinked  glasses,  and  drank  their  brandy. 
Gervaise  was  then  able  to  look  at  Lantier  at  her  ease  ;  for, 
on  the  night  of  the  feast,  she  had  but  espied  him  through  a 
mist.  He  had  grown  stouter,  fat  and  round,  and  his  legs 
and  arms  looked  heavy  on  account  of  his  short  stature.  But 
his  face  preserved  some  handsome  features  beneath  the 
bloatedness  born  of  an  idle  life ;  and  as  he  always  took  great 
care   of  his   little  moustaches,  one  could  guess  accurately 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  221 

enough  that  he  was  thirty-five  years  old.  That  day  he  was 
dressed,  in  very  gentlemanly  fashion,  in  grey  trousers,  dark- 
blue  coat  and  billy -cock  hat ;  and  he  even  carried  a  silver 
watch  and  chain,  from  which  hung  a  ring,  a  keepsake. 

'I'm  off,'  said  he,  all  at  once.  'I  live  no  end  of  a 
distance  from  here.'  And  he  was  already  on  the  pavement, 
when  the  zinc-worker  called  him  back  to  make  him  promise 
that  he  would  never  pass  the  door  without  looking  in  to  wish 
them  good-day.  Meanwhile  Gervaise,  who  had  quietly  dis- 
appeared, returned,  pushing  Etienne  before  her.  The  child, 
who  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  half  asleep,  smiled  as  he 
rubbed  his  eyes.  But  on  perceiving  Lantier,  he  stopped 
short,  trembling  and  embarrassed,  and  casting  anxious 
glances  at  his  mother  and  Coupeau. 

*  Don't  you  remember  this  gentleman  ?  '  asked  the  latter. 
For   a  moment  the  child  held  down  his  head  without 

replying.  Then  he  made  a  shght  sign  which  meant  that  he 
did  remember  the  gentleman. 

'  Well  1  then,  don't  stand  there  like  a  fool ;  go  and  kiss 
him.' 

Lantier  gravely  and  quietly  waited.  When  Etienne  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  approach  him,  he  stooped  down,  pre- 
sented both  cheeks  in  turn,  and  then  kissed  the  youngster  on 
the  forehead  himself.  At  this  the  boy  ventured  to  look  at  his 
father  ;  but  all  at  once  he  burst  out  sobbing,  and  scampered 
away  like  a  mad  creature,  his  clothes  half  falling  off  him,  while 
Coupeau  angrily  called  him  a  young  savage. 

*  The  emotion's  too  much  for  him,'  said  Gervaise,  pale  and 
agitated  herself. 

'  Oh !  he's  generally  very  gentle  and  amiable,'  exclaimed 
Coupeau.  '  I've  brought  him  up  famously,  as  you'll  see. 
He'll  get  used  to  you.  He  must  learn  to  know  people.  Any- 
how, were  it  only  on  this  youngster's  account,  we  could  not 
always  have  remained  bad  friends,  could  we  now  ?  We  ought 
to  have  made  it  up  for  his  sake  long  ago,  for  I  would  sooner 
have  my  head  cut  off  than  prevent  a  father  from  seeing  his 
child.' 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  he  talked  of  finishing  the 
bottle  of  brandy.  All  three  chinked  glasses  again.  Lantier 
showed  no  surprise,  but  remained  superbly  calm.  By  way  of 
acknowledging  the  zinc-worker's  politeness,  he  insisted  on 
helping  him  to  put  up  the  shutters,  before  taking  his  departure. 
Then,  rubbing  his  hands  to  cleanse  them  of  the  dust,  he  wished 


222  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  couple  good-night.     *  Sleep  well.    I  shall  try  to  catch  the 
last  'bus.     I  promise  you  I'll  look  in  again  soon.' 

From  that  evening  forward,  Lantier  frequently  called  at 
the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  He  came  when  the  zinc-worker 
was  there,  inquiring  for  him  the  moment  he  reached  the  door, 
and  pretending  that  he  had  called  solely  on  his  account.  Then, 
invariably  coated  like  one  of  the  middle  class,  freshly  shaved 
and  combed,  he  would  take  a  seat  by  the  window,  and  converse 
politely  with  the  manners  of  an  educated  man.  It  was  thus 
that  the  Coupeaus  gradually  became  acquainted  with  some 
details  of  his  life.  During  the  last  eight  years  he  had  for  a 
while  managed  a  hat  factory  ;  and  when  they  inquired  why  he 
had  retired  from  it,  he  contented  himself  with  alluding  to  the 
rascality  of  a  partner,  a  fellow  from  his  native  place,  who  had 
squandered  all  the  takings  with  women.  But  his  whilom 
position  of  employer  remained  manifest  in  his  whole  person,  like 
some  title  of  nobility  from  which  he  could  not  derogate.  He 
was  for  ever  saying  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  completing  a 
superb  arrangement ;  some  wholesale  hat  manufacturers  were 
to  set  him  up  in  business  and  trust  him  with  an  enormous  stock. 
Meanwhile,  however,  he  did  nothing  but  walk  about  in  the 
sunshine  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  just  like  a  gentleman 
possessed  of  a  private  income.  And  on  the  days  when 
he  complained,  if  any  one  ventured  to  tell  him  of  a  factory 
which  was  in  want  of  workmen,  he  smiled  compassionately  ; 
he,  for  his  part,  had  no  desire  to  die  of  hunger  while  slaving 
for  others. 

All  the  same,  as  Coupeau  would  say,  he  did  laot  live  on  air. 
Oh  !  he  was  a  cunning  blade.  He  knew  how  to  get  his  bread 
buttered,  and  doubtless  had  something  up  his  sleeve,  for  he 
certainly  wore  an  air  of  prosperity,  and  must  obtain  money 
somehow  to  be  able  to  sport  clean  white  shirts  and  neckties 
worthy  of  gentlefolks.  One  morning,  so  the  zinc-worker 
related,  he  had  seen  him  having  his  boots  cleaned  on  the 
Boulevard  Montmartre.  The  truth  was  that  Lantier,  while 
very  talkative  on  the  subject  of  others,  held  his  tongue  or  lied 
whenever  there  was  any  question  of  himself.  He  would  not 
even  say  where  he  lived.  No ;  he  was  lodging  at  a  friend's,  a 
long  way  off,  whilst  waiting  for  the  fine  position  that  had 
been  promised  him  ;  and  it  was  useless  for  any  one  to  call  on 
him,  as  he  was  really  never  at  home. 

*  Oh  1  there  are  dozens  of  places  to  be  found,'  he  would 
often  explain.    *  Only,  it  isn't  worth  while  entering  a  crib 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  223 

when  you're  certain  that  you  won't  remain  there  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours.  For  instance,  one  Monday,  I  arrived  at  Cham- 
pion's, at  Montrouge.  In  the  evening  Champion  began  to 
bother  me  about  pohtics ;  his  ideas  were  not  the  same  as  mine. 
"Well  I  on  the  Tuesday  morning  off  I  went,  for  we're  no  longer 
in  the  days  of  slavery,  and  I'm  not  going  to  sell  myself  for 
seven  francs  a  day.* 

The  early  part  of  November  had  now  arrived,  and  when- 
ever Lantier  called  he  would  gallantly  bring  some  little 
bunches  of  violets,  and  distribute  them  among  Gervaise  and 
the  two  workwomen.  Little  by  little  he  multiplied  his  visits, 
till  he  ended  by  coming  nearly  every  day.  It  seemed  as 
though  he  wished  to  make  a  conquest  of  the  household,  of  the 
whole  neighbourhood  ;  and  he  commenced  by  charming  C16- 
mence  and  Madame  Putois,  to  whom  he  was  equally  attentive, 
notwithstanding  the  difference  in  their  ages.  At  the  end  of 
a  month  the  two  workwomen  positively  adored  him.  The 
Boches,  whom  he  flattered  enormously,  visiting  them  in  their 
room,  were  in  raptures  with  his  politeness.  As  for  the  Loril- 
leux,  when  they  learnt  who  was  the  gentleman  that  had  arrived 
amidst  the  dessert  on  the  day  of  the  feast,  they  said  the  most 
horrible  things  of  Gervaise,  who  thus  dared  to  introduce  her 
old  lover  into  the  family.  But  one  day  Lantier  called  upon 
them,  and  made  himself  so  agreeable  in  ordering  a  chain  for  a 
lady  of  his  acquaintance,  that  they  asked  him  to  sit  down,  and 
kept  him  there  for  an  hour,  quite  charmed  with  his  conversa- 
tion ;  they  even  asked  themselves  how  such  a  delightful  man 
could  ever  have  had  anything  to  do  with  the  Hobbler.  To 
sum  up,  the  hatter's  visits  to  the  Coupeaus  no  longer  made 
any  one  indignant,  but  seemed  quite  natural,  so  thoroughly 
had  he  insinuated  himself  into  the  good  graces  of  every  one 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  Goujet  alone  remained 
gloomy.  If  he  happened  to  be  there  when  the  other  arrived, 
he  at  once  made  for  the  door,  so  as  to  avoid  any  closer 
acquaintance. 

However,  amidst  the  extraordinary  partiality  for  Lantier 
which  others  displayed,  Gervaise,  during  the  earlier  weeks, 
lived  in  a  state  of  great  agitation.  She  experienced  that  burn- 
ing sensation  which  had  affected  her  on  the  day  when  Virginia 
had  first  alluded  to  the  past,  Her  great  fear  was  that  she 
might  find  herself  without  strength,  should  he  some  day  come 
upon  her  all  alone  and  take  it  into  his  head  to  kiss  her.  She 
thought  of  him  too  much  ;  she  was  for  ever  occupied  with  him. 


224  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

But  she  gradually  became  calmer  on  seeing  him  behave  with 
such  decorum,  never  even  looking  at  her  or  trying  to  touch 
her  hands.  Moreover,  Virginie,  who  seemed  to  read  within  her, 
made  her  ashamed  of  all  her  wicked  thoughts.  Why  did  she 
tremble  ?  One  could  not  hope  to  come  across  a  better 
behaved  man.  She  certainly  had  nothing  to  fear  now.  And 
one  day  the  tall  brunette  manoeuvred  in  such  wise  as  to  get 
them  both  into  a  corner,  and  turn  the  conversation  on  the 
subject  of  love.  Lantier  thereupon  declared  in  a  grave  voice 
and  choice  words  that  his  heart  was  dead,  and  that  in  future 
he  wished  to  consecrate  his  life  solely  to  his  son's  happiness. 
At  the  same  time  he  never  alluded  to  Claude,  who  was  still  in 
the  South,  and  though  he  kissed  Etienne  on  the  forehead  every 
evening,  he  never  knew  what  to  say  to  the  child  if  he  remained 
there,  but  forgot  him  and  turned  his  attention  to  Clemence. 
Gervaise,  however,  was  tranquillised,  and  felt  the  past  die 
within  her.  Lantier' s  presence  wore  away  her  recollections  of 
Plassans,  and  the  Hotel  Boncoeur.  Seeing  him  so  constantly, 
Bhe  no  longer  dreamed  of  him  so  much.  Indeed,  the  thought 
of  their  past  connection  became  repugnant  to  her.  Oh,  it  was 
all  over,  quite  over.  Should  he  ever  be  wanting  in  respect  for 
her  she  would  smack  him,  and  tell  her  husband  everything. 
And,  then,  free  from  remorse,  she  again  thought  with  sweet 
delight  of  Goujet's  loyal  friendship. 

One  morning,  on  reaching  the  shop,  Clemence  related  that 
on  the  previous  evening,  in  the  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette, 
she  had  seen  M.  Lantier  with  a  fair-haired  woman  on  his  arm. 
And  with  a  good  deal  of  covert  spitefulness,  just  to  see  how 
her  mistress  would  take  it,  she  began  to  give  some  particulars 
of  the  meeting.  But,  talk  as  she  might,  Gervaise  went  on 
ironing  a  white  dress,  and  evinced  no  worry  whatever.  Now 
and  again  indeed  the  story  brought  a  slight  smile  to  her  lips. 
Those  Southerners,  said  she,  were  passionate  fellows,  and 
nobody  could  keep  them  from  running  after  petticoats. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  hatter  arrived,  it  amused  her  to 
listen  to  Clemence  teasing  him  about  his  blonde.  He  seemed 
rather  flattered  at  having  been  seen.  Well,  yes,  the  person 
was  an  old  friend  of  his  whom  he  occasionally  met.  She  was 
very  chic^  and  had  been  protected  by  a  viscount,  a  large  china 
merchant,  and  the  son  of  a  notary.  Then  he  went  on  to  say 
that  he  liked  women  who  had  plenty  of  scent  about  them,  and 
he  was  poking  his  handkerchief,  which  the  person  with  the 
fair  hair  had  scented  for  him,  under  Cl^mence's  nose,  when 


THE    WILES    01   THE   TEMPTER  225 

Etienne  came  in.  Thereupon  he  assumed  his  grave  manner, 
kissed  the  child,  and  added  that  such  bagatelles  were  of  no 
consequence,  for  his  heari;  was  dead.  Gervaise,  bending  over 
her  work,  nodded  her  head  in  approval.  And  it  was  Clemence 
who  paid  the  penalty  of  her  spitefulness,  for  she  had  fancied 
that  Lantier  was  partial  to  her,  and  it  annoyed  her  that  she 
was  not  redolent  of  musk,  like  the  person  with  the  fair  hair. 

When  springtime  came  round,  Lantier,  who  was  now 
quite  one  of  the  family,  talked  of  living  in  the  neighbourhood, 
so  as  to  be  nearer  his  friends.  He  wanted  a  furnished  room  in 
a  decent  house,  he  said  :  so  Madame  Boche,  and  even  Gervaise 
herself,  went  searching  about  for  him.  They  explored  all  the 
neighbouring  streets  ;  but  he  was  always  too  difficult  to  please ; 
he  required  a  big  courtyard,  and  a  room  on  the  ground  floor  ; 
in  fact,  every  luxury  imaginable.  And  then  every  evening,  at 
the  Coupeaus',  he  seemed  to  be  measuring  the  height  of  the 
ceilings,  studying  the  arrangement  of  the  rooms,  and  coveting 
a  similar  lodging.  Oh,  he  would  never  have  asked  for  any- 
thing better,  he  would  willingly  have  made  himself  a  nest 
in  that  warm,  quiet  corner.  And  he  always  wound  up  his 
inspection  with  these  words  :  *  By  Jove  I  you  are  comfortably 
situated  here.' 

One  evening,  when  he  had  dined  at  the  laundry-shop,  and 
was  repeating  this  remark  during  dessert,  Coupeau,  w^ho  now 
treated  him  most  familiarly,  suddenly  exclaimed  :  '  You  must 
stay  here,  old  boy,  if  it  suits  you.  It's  easily  arranged.' 
And  he  explained  that  the  dirty-clothes  room  would  make  a 
nice  apartment  if  it  were  cleaned  out.  Etienne  could  sleep 
on  a  mattress  in  the  shop,  that  was  all. 

*  No,  no,'  said  Lantier,  '  I  cannot  accept.  It  would 
inconvenience  you  too  much.  I  know  that  it's  willingly 
offered,  but  we  should  be  over  warm  all  jumbled  up  together. 
Besides,  you  know,  each  likes  his  liberty.  I  should  have  to 
go  backwards  and  forwards  through  your  room,  and  that 
wouldn't  be  pleasant.' 

The  zinc- worker  laughed.  *  Pooh,'  said  he,  '  that  can  be 
got  over  easily  enough.  Aren't  there  two  windows  in  the 
room  ?  Y/ell,  we'll  knock  one  out  and  turn  it  into  a  door. 
Then,  you  see,  you  can  come  in  by  way  of  the  courtyard,  and 
we  can  even  stop  up  the  other  door,  if  we  Hke.  So  you'll  be 
in  your  home,  and  we  in  ours.' 

A  pause  ensued.    At  length,  the  hatter  murmured :  *  Ah, 

Q 


226  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

yes,  in  that  manner,  perhaps  we  might.  And  yet  no,  I  should 
be  too  much  in  your  way.' 

He  avoided  looking  at  Gervaise.  But  he  was  evidently 
waiting  for  a  word  from  her  before  accepting.  She  was  very 
much  annoyed  at  her  husband's  idea  ;  not  that  the  thought  of 
Lantier  living  with  them  wounded  her  feelings,  or  made  her 
particularly  uneasy  ;  but  she  wondered  where  she  would  be 
able  to  keep  the  dirty  clothes.  However,  the  zinc -worker 
began  to  enumerate  the  advantages  of  the  arrangement.  The 
rent — five  hundred  francs  a  year — had  always  been  rather  too 
much  for  them.  Well,  their  comrade  should  pay  them  twenty 
francs  a  month  for  the  furnished  room ;  that  wouldn't  be  dear 
for  him,  and  it  would  assist  them  at  quarter-day.  And  he 
added  that  he  would  undertake  to  knock  up  a  big  case  under 
their  bed,  which  would  hold  all  the  dirty  clothes  of  the 
neighbourhood.  Then  Gervaise,  still  hesitating,  directed  a 
questioning  glance  at  Mother  Coupeau,  whom  Lantier  had 
won  over  months  previously  by  bringing  her  jujubes  for  her 
cough. 

*  You  certainly  would  not  be  in  our  way,'  she  ended  by 
saying.     *  We  could  so  arrange  things ' 

*  No,  no,  thanks,'  repeated  the  hatter.  *■  You're  too  kind ; 
it  would  be  askmg  too  much.' 

At  this  came  an  outburst  from  Coupeau.  Was  Lantier 
going  to  refuse  when  they  told  him  it  was  freely  offered  ? 
He  would  be  obliging  them — there,  did  he  understand  ? 
Then  in  an  excited  voice  the  zinc-worker  yelled :  *  jfitienne  I 
Etienne  I ' 

The  youngster,  who  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  table,  raised 
his  head  with  a  start. 

*  Listen,  tell  him  that  you  wish  it.  Yes,  that  gentleman 
there.     Tell  him  as  loud  as  jou  can  :  "  I  wish  it !  "  ' 

*  I  wish  it !  '  stuttered  Etienne,  in  a  drowsy  way. 
Everyone  laughed.     But  Lantier  soon  resumed  his  grave 

and  impressive  air.  And  he  squeezed  Coupeau's  hand  across 
the  table  as  he  said  :  *  I  accept.  It's  in  all  good-fellowship 
on  both  sides,  is  it  not?     Yes,    I  accept    for   the   child's 


On  the  very  next  day,  as  the  landlord,  M.  Marescot,  came 
to  spend  an  hour  in  the  Bodies'  room,  Gervaise  spoke  to  him 
on  the  subject.  At  first  he  seemed  very  apprehensive,  and 
refused,  and  became  quite  angry,  as  though  she  had  asked 
him  to  knock  down  a  whole  wing  of  his  house.    Then,  after  a 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  227 

minute  inspection  of  the  premises,  when  he  had  looked  to  see 
whether  the  upper  storeys  would  be  shaken,  he  ended  by 
giving  the  necessary  permission,  but  on  the  express  condition 
that  he  should  not  be  called  upon  to  bear  any  part  of  the 
expense ;  and,  moreover,  the  Coupeaus  had  to  sign  a  paper  in 
which  they  undertook  to  leave  everything  as  they  had  found 
it,  at  the  expiration  of  their  lease.  That  very  evening,  the 
zinc  worker  brought  some  comrades  of  his — a  mason,  a  car- 
penter, and  a  painter — a  trio  of  jolly  dogs  who  were  to  carry 
out  the  alterations  in  their  spare  time,  just  in  a  friendly  way. 
Nevertheless,  the  fixing  of  the  new  door  and  the  cleaning  of 
the  room  cost  a  hundred  francs,  without  counting  the  wine 
with  which  the  job  was  moistened.  The  zinc-worker  told  his 
comrades  he  would  pay  them  later  on,  with  the  first  money 
he  received  from  his  tenant.  Then  came  the  question  of 
furnishing  the  room.  Gervaise  left  Mother  Coupeau's  ward- 
robe in  it,  and  after  adding  thereto  a  table  and  a  couple  of 
chairs  from  her  own  room,  she  had  to  purchase  a  toilet-table 
and  a  bedstead  and  bedding,  costing  altogether  one  hundred 
and  thirty  francs,  which  she  was  to  pay  off  at  the  rate  of  ten 
francs  a  month.  If,  however,  Lantier's  monthly  rental  of 
twenty  francs  was  for  the  first  ten  months  or  so  swallowed  up 
by  the  debts  thus  contracted,  there  would,  said  the  Coupeaus, 
be  a  fine  profit  afterwards. 

It  was  on  one  of  the  early  days  of  June,  that  the  hatter 
moved  in.  On  the  previous  evening,  Coupeau  had  offered  to 
go  with  him  and  fetch  bis  box,  to  save  him  the  cost  of  cab 
hire.  But  the  other  became  quite  embarrassed  at  this  pro- 
posal, and  declared  that  the  box  was  far  too  heavy,  as 
though,  tiU  the  very  last  moment,  he  wished  to  keep  his 
lodging-place  a  secret.  He  arrived  in  the  afternoon,  towards 
three  o'clock,  while  Coupeau  was  out.  And  Gervaise,  who 
happened  to  be  standing  at  the  shop  door,  became  quite  pale, 
on  recognising  the  box  outside  the  cab.  It  was  their  old  box, 
the  one  with  which  they  had  journeyed  from  Plassans,  all 
scratched  and  broken  now,  and  held  together  by  cords.  She 
saw  it  return  as  she  had  often  dreamt  it  would ;  and  no  great 
stretch  of  imagination  was  needed  to  make  her  believe  that 
the  same  cab,  that  cab  in  which  Lantier  had  gone  off  with 
that  hussy  of  a  burnisher,  had  brought  the  box  back  again. 
However,  Boche  was  giving  Lantier  a  helping  hand.  The 
laundress  followed  them,  silent,  and  rather  dazed.  When 
they  had  deposited  their  burden  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 

q2 


228  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

she  said,  for  the  sake  of  saying  something :  *  Well !  that's  a 
good  thing  finished,  isn't  it  ? ' 

Then,  pulling  herself  together,  seeing  that  Lantier,  who 
was  already  unfastening  the  cords,  paid  no  attention  to  her, 
she  added :  *  Monsieur  Boche,  you  must  have  a  drink.'  And 
forthwith  she  fetched  a  quart  of  wine  and  some  glasses. 

Just  then  Poisson  passed  along  the  pavement  in  uniform. 
She  signalled  to  him,  winking  her  eye  and  smiling.  The 
policeman  fully  understood  her.  When  he  was  on  duty,  and 
anyone  winked  at  him,  it  meant  a  glass  of  wine.  He  would 
even  walk  for  hours  up  and  down  before  the  laundress's, 
waiting  for  a  wink.  And  so  as  not  to  be  seen,  he  would  pass 
through  the  courtyard,  and  toss  off  the  Hquor  on  the  sly. 

*  Ah  1  ah !  *  said  Lantier,  when  he  saw  him  enter,  *  it's  you, 
Badingue !  ' 

He  called  him  Badingue — a  nickname  given  to  Napoleon  III. 
— by  way  of  a  joke,  just  to  show  how  little  he  cared  for  the 
Emperor.  Poisson  put  up  with  it  in  his  stiff  way,  without 
anyone  knowing  whether  it  really  annoyed  him  or  not.  At 
all  events  the  two  men,  although  of  different  opinions  in 
politics,  had  become  very  good  friends. 

*  You  know  that  the  Emperor  was  once  a  policeman  in 
London,'  said  Boche  in  his  turn.  *  Yes,  on  my  word  1  he  used 
to  take  drunken  women  to  the  station-house.'  ^ 

Gervaise,  meantime,  had  filled  three  glasses.  She  would 
not  drink  herself,  for  she  felt  too  upset ;  nevertheless,  she 
remained  there,  longing  to  see  what  the  box  contained,  and 
watching  Lantier  remove  the  last  cords.  She  recollected  that 
in  one  corner  there  had  formerly  been  a  heap  of  socks,  two 
shirts,  and  an  old  hat.  Were  they  still  there  ?  was  she  again 
to  behold  the  rags  and  tatters  of  the  past  ?  However,  before 
raising  the  lid,  Lantier  took  his  glass,  and  clinked  it  against 
the  others. 

*  Good  health.* 

*  Same  to  you,'  replied  Boche  and  Poisson. 

The  laundress  filled  the  glasses  again,  while  the  three  men 
wiped  their  lips  with  the  backs  of  their  hands.  And  at  last 
the  hatter  opened  the  box.  It  was  full  of  a  jumble  of  news- 
papers,  books,   old    clothes,   and    underlinen,    in    bundles. 

1 M.  Boche  had  a  lively  imagination.  Napoleon  III.'s  only  connection 
with  the  London  police  was  that  he  was  sworn  in  as  a  special  constable 
at  the  time  of  some  of  the  Chartist  disturbances.  This,  of  course,  was 
before  he  came  to  the  throne. 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  229 

Lantier  brought  out  in  succession  a  saucepan,  a  pair  of  boots, 
a  bust  of  Ledru-Eollin  with  the  nose  broken,  an  embroidered 
shirt,  and  a  pair  of  working  trousers.  And  Gervaise,  leaning 
forward,  inhaled  an  odour  of  tobacco  and  uncleanliness.  No, 
the  old  hat  was  no  longer  in  the  left-hand  corner  ;  but  there 
was  a  pincushion  there  which  she  did  not  recognise,  probably 
a  present  from  some  woman.  Then  she  became  calmer ; 
experiencing  but  a  vague  sadness  as  her  eyes  travelled  from 
one  article  to  another,  and  she  wondered  whether  they  dated 
from  her  time  or  from  that  of  others. 

'  I  say,  Badingue,  you  don't  know  this,  do  you  ?  *  resumed 
Lantier,  as  he  thrust  under  the  policeman's  nose  a  little  book 
called  *  The  Amours  of  Napoleon  III.,'  printed  at  Brussels, 
and  illustrated  with  very  objectionable  engravings. 

*  Ah  I  that's  it  exactly  I  '  exclaimed  Boche,  whose  coarse 
instincts  were  stirred  by  the  sight  of  one  abominable  picture. 
'  It  always  happens  like  that  1 ' 

Poisson,  on  his  side,  was  in  consternation,  and  could  not 
find  a  word  to  say  in  the  Emperor's  defence.  There  was 
Napoleon's  inordinate  partiahty  for  the  fair  sex  chronicled 
in  a  book,  so  he  dared  not  deny  it.  However,  as  Lantier 
continued  thrusting  the  book  under  his  nose  in  a  jeering  way, 
he  at  last  extended  his  arms  and  exclaimed  :  '  Well,  what 
of  it  ?    Isn't  it  natural  for  men  to  be  fond  of  the  fair  sex  ?  ' 

This  answer  completely  shut  up  Lantier.  He  placed  his 
books  and  newspapers  on  a  shelf  in  the  wardrobe  ;  and  as  he 
apparently  regretted  not  having  a  little  bookcase  suspended 
above  the  table,  Gervaise  promised  to  procure  him  one.  He 
possessed  Louis  Blanc's  '  History  of  Ten  Years,'  with  the 
exception  of  the  first  volume,  which,  by  the  way,  he  had 
never  had ;  Lamartine's  '  Girondins,'  in  two-sou  numbers ; 
Eugene  Sue's  '  Mysteries  of  Paris '  and  the  *  Wandering 
Jew,'  in  addition  to  a  number  of  philosophical  and  humani- 
tarian treatises,  picked  up  at  second-hand  dealers.  But  it 
was  to  his  newspapers  in  particular  that  he  gave  a  loving, 
respectful  glance.  Whenever  he  chanced  to  read  at  any  cafe 
a  smart  newspaper  article  written  in  accordance  with  his  own 
ideas,  he  would  purchase  the  paper  and  preserve  it.  And 
thus  he  had  gathered  together  a  huge  bundle  of  papers  of  all 
dates  and  titles,  jumbled  up  anyhow.  When  he  had  removed 
this  bundle  from  the  bottom  of  the  box,  he  slapped  it  in  a 
friendly  way,  and  said  to  the  other  men  :  *  You  see  that  ? 
well,  it  belongs  to  me.    Nobody  else  can  boast  of  having 


236  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

anythmg  half  so  good.  You've  no  idea  what  those  papers  con- 
tain. That's  to  say,  if  half  the  ideas  in  them  were  carried 
out,  society  would  be  cleansed  at  once.  Yes,  your  Emperor 
and  all  his  spies  would  quake  in  their  shoes ' 

But  he  was  interrupted  by  the  policeman,  whose  carroty 
moustache  and  imperial  were  quivering  on  his  pale  face. 
*  And  the  army,  I  say,  what  about  that,  eh  ? ' 

At  this  Lantier  flew  into  a  passion,  banged  his  fists 
upon  the  newspapers  and  yelled  :  *  I  demand  the  suppression 
of  militarism  and  the  fraternity  of  nations.  I  demand  the 
abolition  of  privileges,  titles,  and  monopolies.  I  demand 
equality  of  salaries,  division  of  profits,  and  the  glorification  of 
the  working  class.  All  liberties,  you  hear  me,  that's  what  I 
want,  all  of  them  I     And  a  divorce  law  too.* 

*Yes,  yes,  divorce  ought  to  be  allowed  for  morality's 
sake  I '  insisted  Boche. 

Poisson  had  put  on  a  majestic  air.  *  But  if  I  won't  have 
your  liberties,  I'm  free  to  refuse  them,'  he  answered. 

*  If  you  won't  have  them — ^if  you  won't  have  them,' 
stuttered  Lantier,  choking  with  rage.  *  No,  you're  not  free ! 
If  you  won't  have  them,  I'll  bundle  you  off  to  Cayenne,  that's 
what  I'll  do  I  Yes,  to  Cayenne,  with  your  Emperor  and  all 
the  pigs  who  surround  him  1 ' 

They  always  quarrelled  in  this  wise  every  time  they  met, 
and  Gervaise,  who  did  not  like  disputes,  usually  interfered. 
She  now  roused  herself  from  the  torpor  into  which  the 
sight  of  Lantier's  box,  so  suggestive  of  the  past,  had  plunged 
her,  and  drew  the  three  men's  attention  to  their  glasses. 

*  Ah  !  yes,'  said  Lantier,  suddenly  calming  down  and 
taking  his  glass.     *  Good  health  to  you  I ' 

'  Good  health,'  replied  Boche  and  Poisson,  clinking  glasses 
with  him. 

Boche,  however,  was  moving  about  nervously,  and  glancing 
askance  at  the  policeman.  *  All  this  is  between  ourselves, 
eh.  Monsieur  Poisson  ? '  he  murmured  at  length.  *  We  may 
say  and  show  you  things,  but ' 

However,  Poisson  did  not  let  him  finish.  He  placed  his 
hand  upon  his  heart,  as  though  to  explain  that  all  remained 
buried  therein.  He  certainly  did  not  intend  to  spy  on  his 
friends.  Then,  as  Coupeau  arrived,  they  emptied  a  second 
quart,  and  afterwards,  the  policeman,  going  off  by  way  of 
the  courtyard,  resumed  his  stiff  and  measured  march  along 
the  pavement. 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  231 

During  the  first  few  days  things  were  upside  down  at  the 
laundress's.  Lantier,  true  enough,  had  his  separate  room, 
his  own  entrance  and  his  key  ;  but  as,  at  the  last  moment, 
they  had  decided  not  to  fasten  up  the  door  which  afforded 
communication  between  the  two  rooms,  it  happened  that  he 
frequently  passed  through  the  shop.  The  dirty  clothes,  too, 
were  a  great  deal  in  Gervaise's  way,  for  her  husband  did 
nothing  towards  making  the  big  box  which  he  had  spoken 
of ;  so  that  she  found  herself  obhged  to  deposit  the  things 
here  and  there,  some  in  the  corners,  but  most  of  them 
under  her  bedstead,  which  was  far  from  pleasant  in  warm 
summer  weather.  The  young  ,  woman  was  also  greatly 
annoyed  at  having  to  make  up  Etienne's  bed  every  evening 
in  the  middle  of  the  shop.  When  the  workwomen  stopped 
there  till  late  the  child  would  fall  asleep  on  a  chair  whilst 
waiting.  Thus,  on  Goujet  suggesting  that  Etienne  should 
be  sent  to  Lille,  where  his — Goujet's — former  employer,  an 
engine-builder,  was  in  want  of  apprentices,  she  was  delighted 
with  the  idea,  the  more  so  as  the  youngster,  who  was  not  very 
happy  at  home,  and  longed  to  be  his  own  master,  begged  her 
to  consent  to  his  going.  However,  she  feared  a  decided 
refusal  from  Lantier.  He  had  come  to  live  with  them,  solely 
to  be  near  his  son  ;  and  would  surely  not  wish  to  part  with 
him  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight.  Yet  when  she  tremblingly  men- 
tioned the  matter  to  him,  he  fully  approved  of  the  project, 
saying  that  young  workmen  ought,  to  see  plenty  of  their 
country.  On  the  morning  when  Etienne  left,  he  made  him 
a  little  speech  about  his  rights,  then  kissed  him,  and  ex- 
claimed :  *  Eemember  that  the  producer  is  not  a  slave,  but 
whoever  is  not  a  producer  is  a  drone.' 

Then  the  life  of  the  household  reverted  to  its  usual 
course  ;  things  calmed  down,  and  they  all  quietly  took  to  the 
few  new  habits  which  Lantier' s  arrival  brought  in  its  train. 
Gervaise  became  accustomed  to  seeing  the  dirty  clothes  lying 
about,  and  Lantier  passing  to  and  fro.  The  latter  was  ever 
talking  of  his  great  business  affairs  ;  he  would  sometimes  go 
off,  well  combed  and  brushed,  and  wearing  clean  white  linen, 
and  nothing  more  would  be  seen  of  him  all  that  day.  In 
fact  he  would  sleep  elsewhere,  and  simply  return  on  the 
morrow,  pretending  that  he  was  quite  worn  out,  that  his 
head  was  fairly  splitting,  as  though  he  had  been  discussing 
the  most  weighty  matters  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  a 
stretch.     The    truth    was    that    he    took    life    easy.     Oh  I 


232  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

there  was  no  fear  that  he  would  ever  blister  his  hands !  He 
usually  rose  of  a  morning  at  about  ten  o'clock ;  then  in  the 
afternoon,  if  the  sunshine  took  his  fancy,  he  would  go  out  for 
a  stroll,  while  if  it  was  a  rainy  day  he  remained  in  the  shop 
reading  a  newspaper.  He  was  in  his  true  element  there,  in 
the  midst  of  all  those  women,  delighting  in  their  coarse 
language,  in  fact,  inciting  them  to  the  greatest  liberties  of 
speech,  whilst  invariably  employing  the  choicest  expressions 
himself ;  and  if  he  was  so  fond  of  hving  among  washerwomen, 
it  was  precisely  because  they  have  a  knack  of  calhng  things 
by  their  real  names.  Whenever  Cl^mence  unburdened  herself 
he  would  hsten  to  her,  smiling  blandly  and  twirling  his 
moustaches.  It  seemed  as  if  that  shop  with  its  peculiar 
atmosphere,  its  commingling  of  odours,  its  dirty  linen  and 
its  perspiring,  bare-armed  women,  was  to  him  some  long- 
dreamt-of  nest,  a  long-sought  haven  of  idleness  and  enjoy- 
ment. 

At  the  outset  Lantier  took  his  meals  at  Fran9ois's,  at  the 
corner  of  the  Eue  des  Poissonniers.  But  every  week  he  dined 
with  the  Coupeaus  on  three  or  four  occasions ;  so  much 
so,  indeed,  that  he  ended  by  offering  to  board  with  them,  and 
to  pay  them  fifteen  francs  every  Saturday.  Thenceforward, 
he  scarcely  ever  left  the  house,  but  made  himself  completely 
at  home  there.  He  was  to  be  seen  from  morning  till  night 
going  to  and  fro  in  his  shirt  sleeves  between  the  shop  and 
the  room  at  the  back,  raising  his  voice  and  giving  orders.  In 
fact,  he  even  attended  to  the  customers,  he  directed  every- 
thing. As  Fran9ois's  wine  was  not  to  his  liking,  he  per- 
suaded Gervaise  to  deal  in  future  with  Vigoureux,  the  coal  and 
charcoal  dealer,  with  whose  wife  he  would  often  flirt. ^  Then 
he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Coudeloup's  bread  was  not 
properly  baked,  and  sent  Augustine  to  buy  the  bread  of 
Meyer,  who  kept  the  Viennese  bakery  in  the  Faubourg 
Poissonniere.  He  also  withdrew  Gervaise's  custom  from 
Lehongre,  the  grocer,  and  it  was  only  with  stout  Charles,  the 
butcher  of  the  Rue  Polonceau,  that  the  Coupeaus  now  con- 
tinued dealing,  his  pohtical  opinions  happening  to  coincide 
with  those  of  Lantier.  Moreover,  at  the  end  of  a  month  the 
hatter  wished  oil  to  figure  in  every  dish  that  was  served  at  the 
table.  As  Clemence  jokingly  observed,  nobody  could  cleanse 
that  Southerner  of  his  oil  stain,  it  was  for  ever  reappearing. 
Then,  too,  he  himself  cooked  the  omelettes,  turning  them  over 

*  The  Auvergnat  charcoal  dealers  often  sold  wine  in  those  days. 


THE    WILES   OF  THE   TEMPTER  233 

on  both  sides  till  they  were  browner  than  pancakes,  and  as 
firm  as  galettes.  He  also  superintended  Mother  Coupeau,  and 
insisted  upon  her  cooking  the  beefsteaks  until  they  were  like 
BO  much  shoe-leather.  And  he  added  garlic  to  everything, 
flying  into  quite  a  passion  if  anyone  put  any  herbs  into  the 
salad,  horrible  weeds,  said  he,  among  which  there  might  well 
be  something  poisonous.  However,  his  great  delight  was  a 
certain  soup  made  of  vermicelli,  cooked  in  water  till  it  was 
very  thick,  when  he  would  pour  quite  half  a  bottle  of  oil  over 
it.  Only  he  and  Gervaise  ever  ate  this  concoction.  The 
others,  the  Parisians,  having  one  day  ventured  to  taste  it, 
became  abominably  ill. 

Little  by  little,  Lantier  also  mixed  himself  up  in  the 
affairs  of  the  family.  As  the  Lorilleux  always  grumbled  at 
having  to  part  with  their  contribution  of  five  francs  a  month 
towards  the  keep  of  Mother  Coupeau,  he  explained  that  an 
action  could  be  brought  against  them.  They  must  think  that 
they  had  a  set  of  fools  to  deal  with  1  it  was  ten  francs  a  month 
which  they  ought  to  give  I  And  he  would  go  up  himself  for 
the  ten  francs,  so  boldly,  and  yet  so  amiably,  that  the  chain- 
maker  never  dared  to  refuse  them.  Madame  Lerat  also  gave 
two  five  franc  pieces  now.  Mother  Coupeau,  in  gratitude  for 
this  result,  would  have  kissed  Lantier's  hands.  Moreover,  he 
played  the  part  of  arbiter  in  all  the  quarrels  between  the  old 
woman  and  Gervaise.  Whenever  the  laundress,  in  a  moment 
of  impatience,  behaved  roughly  to  her  mother-in-law,  and  the 
latter  went  off  to  cry  on  her  bed,  he  hustled  them  both,  and 
made  them  kiss  each  other,  asking  them  if  they  thought 
themselves  at  all  amusing  with  their  bad  tempers. 

And  Nana,  too  :  she  was  being  brought  up  precious  badly, 
according  to  his  idea.  In  this  he  was  right,  for  whenever  the 
father  spanked  the  chit,  the  mother  took  her  part,  and  if  the 
mother  in  her  turn  boxed  her  ears,  the  father  made  a  distur- 
bance. Nana,  delighted  at  seeing  her  parents  quarrel  over 
her,  and  knowing  that  she  was  forgiven  beforehand,  would 
constantly  be  up  to  all  kinds  of  tricks.  She  would  often  go  to 
play  at  the  farriery  opposite,  spend  the  whole  day  swinging 
between  the  shafts  of  the  carts  there,  or  else  hide  with  bands 
of  urchins  in  the  remotest  corners  of  the  courtyard  ;  and  then 
suddenly  reappear,  running  and  shouting,  unkempt  and  dirty, 
and  followed  by  all  the  others,  as  though  some  sudden  clash 
of  the  hammers  had  frightened  them  away.  Lantier  alone 
could  venture  to  scold  Nana  ;  and  yet  she  knew  perfectly  well 


234  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

how  to  get  over  him.  This  hussy  of  ten  would  swing  her- 
self about,  and  cast  side  glances  at  him  with  eyes  already  full 
of  vice.  He  ended  by  undertaking  her  education  :  taught  her 
to  dance  and  to  talk  patois. 

In  this  wise  a  year  passed  away.  It  was  thought  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  Lantier  possessed  a  private  income,  for 
this  was  the  only  way  to  account  for  the  Coupeaus'  grand 
style  of  living.  Gervaise  continued  to  earn  money,  no 
doubt,  but  now  that  she  had  to  provide  for  two  men  who  did 
nothing,  the  shop  certainly  could  not  suffice  her ;  more 
especially  as  the  business  done  was  no  longer  so  good  as 
formerly ;  customers  were  leaving,  and  the  workwomen  were 
making  free  from  morning  till  night.  The  truth  was  that 
Lantier  now  paid  for  nothing,  neither  rent  nor  board.  During 
the  first  few  months  he  had  handed  over  various  sums  on 
account,  but  afterwards  he  had  contented  himself  with 
speaking  of  a  large  amount  which  he  had  to  receive,  and  with 
which  he  would  later  on  pay  off  everything  in  a  lump  sum. 
Gervaise  no  longer  dared  to  ask  him  for  a  centime.  She 
obtained  bread,  wine,  and  meat,  all  on  credit;  her  bills 
increasing  everywhere  at  the  rate  of  three  and  four  francs  a 
day.  Moreover,  she  had  not  yet  paid  a  sou  to  the  furniture 
dealer,  nor  to  Coupeau's  three  comrades,  the  mason,  the 
carpenter,  and  the  painter,  who  had  put  in  the  new  door  and 
cleaned  Lantier' s  room.  All  these  people  commenced  to 
grumble,  and  she  was  no  longer  treated  with  the  same  polite- 
ness at  the  shops  where  she  dealt. 

However,  she  was  intoxicated  as  it  were  with  a  mania  for 
getting  into  debt ;  she  ordered  the  most  expensive  things, 
and  gave  full  freedom  to  her  greedy  instincts,  now  that  she 
no  longer  paid  for  anything.  Withal  she  remained  very 
honest  at  heart,  dreaming  of  somehow  earning  hundreds  of 
francs  in  a  single  day,  so  as  to  be  able  to  distribute  handfuls 
of  five  franc  pieces  to  her  tradespeople.  In  short,  she  was 
sinking.  Nevertheless,  she  talked  of  extending  her  business, 
and  this,  although  about  midsummer  tall  Clemence  had  left 
her,  because  there  was  no  longer  sufficient  work  for  two 
women,  and  she  had  to  go  for  weeks  at  a  time  without  her 
money !  On  the  other  hand,  amidst  all  this  downfall, 
Coupeau  and  Lantier  were  getting  fat.  They  gorged  till  they 
were  filled  to  their  chins,  gutting  the  shop,  battening  on  the 
ruin  of  the  establishment ;  and  they  stimulated  each  other 


THE    WILES  OF  THE  TEMPTER         235 

to  take  double  helps,  and  playfully  slapped  one  another  on  the 
stomach,  that  they  might  digest  their  food  the  quicker. 

The  great  subject  of  conversation  in  the  neighbourhood 
was  whether  Lantier  was  really  on  his  old  footing  with 
Gervaise  again.  On  this  point  opinions  were  divided. 
According  to  the  Lorilleux,  the  Hobbler  was  doing  all  she 
could  to  hook  the  hatter  once  more  ;  but  he,  thinking  her  far 
too  faded,  would  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  her.  The 
Boches,  on  the  contrary,  maintained  that  the  laundress  and 
her  old  lover  had  made  it  up  at  the  very  outset.  One  way  or 
another,  the  situation  was  by  no  means  creditable  ;  but  there 
are  so  many  filthy  things  in  life,  and  far  worse  ones,  that 
people  ended  by  thinking  the  Coupeaus*  household  quite 
natural,  and  even  pleasant,  for  there  was  never  any  quarrel- 
ling, and  appearances  were  properly  kept  up.  It  was  certain 
that  if  one  had  pried  into  some  other  homes  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, one  would  have  discovered  far  more  equivocal  goings 
on.  Besides,  the  street  was  conquered  by  the  pleasant  ways 
of  that  wheedler  Lantier,  who  knew  how  to  close  every 
gossip's  mouth. 

Gervaise,  on  her  side,  was  quite  at  ease  with  regard  to 
any  scandal.  She  gave  no  thought  to  Lantier.  And,  in  fact, 
she  was  at  last  accused  of  being  heartless.  The  family  did 
not  understand  why  she  continued  to  bear  such  a  grudge 
against  the  hatter.  Madame  Lerat,  who  delighted  in  thrust- 
ing herself  into  love  affairs,  called  every  evening  ;  and  again 
and  again  declared  that  Lantier  was  irresistible.  Madame 
Boche,  for  her  part,  spoke  of  him  with  a  sigh,  regretting  her 
young  days.  In  this  wise  a  secret  conspiracy  sprung  up, 
encompassing  Gervaise,  urging  her  as  it  were  to  perdition. 
But  she  was  simply  surprised ;  she  did  not  consider  Lantier  so 
particularly  charming.  No  doubt  he  had  improved :  he 
always  wore  a  coat  now  instead  of  a  blouse,  and  he  had 
acquired  some  education  at  cafes  and  political  meetings. 
Only,  she  knew  him  well ;  she  could  read  his  very  soul  in  his 
eyes,  wherein  she  found  a  heap  of  things  which  made  her 
shudder.  In  short,  if  the  gentleman  pleased  the  others  so 
much,  why  did  they  not  tell  him  so  themselves?  It  was 
thus  that  one  day  she  answered  Virginie,  who  was  the 
warmest  in  the  matter.  Then,  to  worry  Gervaise,  Madame 
Lerat  and  Virginie  told  her  of  Lantier  and  Clemence.  She 
had  not  noticed  anything  herself ;  but  it  appeared  that 
whenever  she  went  out  the  hatter  had  made  desperate  love  to 


236  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  ironing-girl,   and  now  people  frequently  met  them  to- 
gether. 

*  Well,  what  of  it  ? '  said  the  laundress,  her  voice  trem- 
bling slightly,  '  what  can  it  matter  to  me  ?  ' 

And  she  looked  into  Virginie's  yellow  eyes,  in  which 
golden  sparks  were  shining  as  in  a  cat's.  Did  this  woman 
wish  her  harm  then,  since  she  was  trying  to  make  her 
jealous  ?  But  the  dressmaker  put  on  her  stupid  air  as  she 
replied  :  *  It  can't  matter  to  you,  of  course.  Only,  you  ought 
to  advise  him  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  girl,  for  she 
is  sure  to  cause  him  some  unpleasantness.' 

However,  the  worst  was  that  Lantier,  feeling  himself 
backed  up,  altogether  changed  his  behaviour  towards 
Gervaise.  Whenever  he  shook  hands  with  her  now  he  would 
hold  her  fingers  for  a  minute  between  his  own.  And  he  was 
ever  fixing  bold  glances  on  her,  which  she  clearly  read.  Yet 
he  waited  a  while  before  openly  declaring  himself.  One 
evening,  however,  finding  himself  alone  with  her,  he  rose 
without  a  word,  pushed  her  all  trembling  into  a  corner  of  the 
shop,  and  there  tried  to  kiss  her.  Chance  so  willed  it  that 
Goujet  entered  at  that  very  moment.  Gervaise  struggled  and 
escaped.  And  all  three  exchanged  a  few  words,  as  though 
nothing  had  happened.  Goujet,  whose  face  was  deadly  pale, 
had  turned  his  eyes  to  the  floor,  fancying  that  she  had  merely 
struggled  in  order  that  a  third  party  might  not  see  her  being 
kissed. 

On  the  morrow,  Gervaise  wandered  about  the  shop,  feeling 
very  unhappy,  unable  to  iron  even  a  handkerchief ;  she 
wanted  to  see  Goujet,  to  explain  to  him  how  it  had  happened 
that  he,  had  found  Lantier  trying  to  kiss  her.  However 
since  Etienne  had  gone  to  Lille,  she  no  longer  dared  td 
enter  the  forge,  where  Salted- Chops,  otherwise  Drink- with  out- 
Thirst,  always  greeted  her  with  a  sly  laugh.  Nevertheless, 
in  the  afternoon,  yielding  to  her  desire,  she  took  an  empty 
basket  and  went  out  under  the  pretext  of  fetching  some 
petticoats  from  her  customer  in  the  Kue  des  Portes-Blanches. 
Then,  when  she  was  opposite  the  bolt  factory  in  the  Eue 
Marcadet,  she  slackened  her  footsteps,  trusting  to  some 
chance  meeting.  Goujet  on  his  side  had  no  doubt  been 
expecting  her,  for  she  had  not  been  there  five  minutes  before 
he  came  out  as  though  by  accident. 

'What  I  you've  been  on  an  errand?'  said  he,  smiling 
faintly ;  *  you're  going  home  ?  ' 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  237 

He  said  this  merely  for  the  sake  of  saying  something.  As 
it  happened  Gervaise  was  turning  her  back  on  the  Rue  des  Pois- 
sonniers.  And  they  made  the  ascent  towards  Montmartre,  walk- 
ing side  by  side.  Their  only  idea  no  doubt  was  to  get  away 
from  the  factory,  so  that  it  might  not  seem  as  if  they  met  by 
appointment  at  the  very  door.  With  bowed  heads,  amidst 
all  the  hum  of  the  factories,  they  followed  the  uneven  road- 
way for  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  and  then  quite  naturally, 
as  though  they  knew  the  spot,  they  turned  in  silence  to  the 
left,  and  entered  a  plot  of  vacant  ground.  It  was  a  bit  of 
meadow-land  still  green,  but  with  yellow  patches  of  scorched 
grass  here  and  there.  On  one  hand  was  a  saw-mill,  on  the 
other  a  button  manufactory  ;  a  goat  tethered  to  a  stake,  kept 
on  turning  round  and  bleating  ;  and  at  the  far  end,  a  dead  tree 
was  crumbling  away  in  the  fierce  sunshine. 

*  Really  I '  murmured  Gervaise,  *  it's  just  like  being  in 
the  country.* 

They  sat  down  under  the  dead  tree.  The  laundress  placed 
her  basket  at  her  feet.  In  front  of  them  rose  the  height  of 
Montmartre  with  its  tiers  of  tall  grey  and  yellow  houses, 
standing  amidst  scanty  clumps  of  verdure.  By  throwing  back 
their  heads,  however,  they  could  see  the  vast  expanse  of  sky, 
bright  and  speckless  above  the  city,  but  streaked  towards  the 
north  by  a  flight  of  small  white  clouds.  However,  the 
brilliant  light  dazzled  them,  and  they  lowered  their  eyes  to  the 
distant  white  suburban  buildings  on  a  level  with  the  flat 
horizon,  and  in  particular  watched  the  little  chimney  of  the 
saw-miU,  which  kept  on  belching  steam.  The  great  gasps 
of  the  engine  seemed  to  relieve  their  breasts. 

*  Yes,'  resumed  Gervaise,  embarrassed  by  the  silence,  *  I 
was  going  on  an  errand,  I  came  out ' 

However,  after  longing  all  day  for  an  explanation,  she 
suddenly  found  herself  unable  to  say  anything.  A  feeling  of 
great  shame  had  fallen  upon  her.  And  yet  she  felt  that  they 
had  come  thither  of  their  own  accord  to  talk  the  matter  over  ; 
they  were  indeed  conversing  about  it,  without  needing  to  utter 
a  word.  The  occurrence  of  the  previous  day  hung  between 
them  like  a  burden  which  oppressed  them. 

Then,  seized  with  overwhelming  sadness,  her  eyes  full  of 
tears,  Gervaise  began  to  speak  of  the  last  moments  of  Madame 
Bijard,  her  washer-woman,  who  had  died  that  morning,  after 
the  most  horrible  sufferings. 

*  It  was  all  through  Bijard  kicking  her,'  said  she  in  a  gentle 


238  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

monotonous  voice.  *  He  had,  no  doubt,  broken  something 
inside  her,  for  she  began  to  swell.  In  three  days  it  was  all 
over.  Ah !  there  are  many  scoundrels  in  prison  who  have 
never  done  anything  half  so  bad  as  that  man  has.  Bat  the 
judges  would  have  too  much  to  do  if  they  busied  themselves 
about  all  the  women  who  are  killed  by  their  husbands.  One 
kick  more  or  less  doesn't  count,  does  it,  when  one's  in  the 
habit  of  being  kicked  all  day  long  ?  More  especially  as  the 
poor  woman  wished  to  save  her  husband  from  the  scaffold, 
and  declared  that  she  had  hurt  herself  by  falling  on  a  tub.  She 
shrieked  all  through  the  night  before  going  off.' 

The  blacksmith  said  nothing,  but  went  on  pulling  up  the 
grass  with  his  trembling  fingers. 

*  It  was  only  a  fortnight  ago,*  continued  Gervaise,  '  that 
she  weaned  her  last  child,  little  Jules ;  and  it's  lucky  she  did 
so,  for  the  child  won't  suffer  by  her  death.  All  the  same,  that 
mite  of  a  LaUe  has  now  got  to  look  after  two  little  ones.  She's 
not  eight  years  old  yet,  but  she's  as  serious  and  as  sensible  as 
a  real  mother.  With  that,  her  father's  always  beating  her. 
Ah  well !  one  comes  across  people  who  seem  born  to  suffer.' 

At  this  Goujet  looked  at  her,  and  said  abruptly,  his  lips 
trembling  the  while  :  *  You  caused  me  great  pain,  yesterday ; 
oh !  yes,  great  pain.'  Gervaise,  turning  pale,  clasped  her 
hands.  But  he  continued :  '  Oh  !  I  know  that  it  was  bound 
to  happen.  Still  you  might  have  confided  in  me,  have  told 
me  the  truth  about  it,  so  as  not  to  let  me  form  ideas ' 

He  was  unable  to  finish.  She  rose  erect  directly  she 
understood  that  Goujet  thought  she  had  resumed  her  old  rela- 
tions with  Lantier,  and,  stretching  out  her  arms,  she  cried, 

*  No,  no,  I  swear  to  you.  He  pushed  me  there  ;  he  was  try- 
ing to  kiss  me,  it's  true,  but  his  face  did  not  even  touch  mine, 
and  it  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  tried  anything  of  the 
kind.  Oh,  listen  !  I  swear  it  on  my  hfe,  on  the  lives  of  my 
children,  on  all  that  I  hold  most  sacred ! ' 

The  blacksmith,  however,  shook  his  head.  He  mistrusted 
her,  because  women  invariably  deny  their  guilt. 

Then  Gervaise  became  very  grave,  and  slowly  resumed, 

*  You  know  me,  Monsieur  Goujet,  you  know  I  am  no  liar. 
Well !  no,  it  is  not  as  you  think,  it  is  not,  on  my  word  of 
honour.  And  it  will  never  be  so,  do  you  hear  ?  never  !  On 
the  day  when  such  a  thing  should  happen,  I  should  become 
the  lowest  of  the  low  ;  I  should  no  longer  deserve  the  friend- 
ship of  an  honest  man  like  you.' 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  239 

As  she  spoke,  her  face  became  so  lovely,  so  radiant  with 
truth,  that  he  took  her  hand  and  made  her  resume  her  seat. 
He  could  now  breathe  freely ;  he  even  laughed  within  him- 
self. It  was  the  first  time  he  had  held  her  hand  hke  that, 
and  he  squeezed  it  in  his  own.  They  both  remained  silent. 
The  little  white  clouds  were  swimming  across  the  sky  slowly, 
like  swans.  In  one  corner  of  the  field  stood  the  goat,  looking 
at  Goujet  and  Gervaise,  and  bleating  gently  at  long,  regular 
intervals.  And  they,  still  holding  each  other's  fingers,  their 
eyes  moist  with  tenderness,  gazed  into  the  distance  at  the  pale 
slope  of  Montmartre,  at  the  tall  forest  of  factory  chimneys 
bordering  the  horizon  of  that  desolate  chalky  suburb,  their 
eyes  filling  with  tears  as  they  rested  on  the  green  arbours  of 
the  low  pot-houses. 

*  Your  mother  is  angry  with  me,  I  know  she  is,*  resumed 
Gervaise  in  a  low  voice.  *  Don't  deny  it.  We  owe  you  so 
much  money ! ' 

But  he  roughly  silenced  her,  shaking  her  hand  as 
though  he  would  break  it.  He  did  not  wish  her  to  speak  of 
money.  Then  he  hesitated,  but  at  length  managed  to  stam- 
mer :  *  Listen  !  for  a  long  time  past  I  have  been  thinking  of 
proposing  something  to  you.  You're  not  happy.  My  mother 
assures  me  that  things  are  going  badly  for  you ' 

He  paused  a  moment,  for  he  was  almost  choking,  then 
added  : '  *  Well  I  we  ought  to  go  off  together.* 

She  looked  at  him,  not  clearly  understanding  his  meaning 
at  first,  and  surprised  by  such  a  rough  and  abrupt  declaration. 
*  In  what  way  ?  '  asked  she. 

*  Yes,'  he  continued  with  bowed  head,  *  we  could  go  off ;  wt 
could  live  somewhere  together,  in  Belgium  if  you  like.  It's 
almost  my  own  country.  And  both  of  us  working  we  should 
soon  get  comfortable.' 

Then  she  flushed  red  with  shame.  He  was  a  queer  fellow 
and  no  mistake  to  propose  an  elopement  to  her,  just  as  takes 
place  in  novels  and  high  society.  All  round  about  her  she 
saw  workmen  courting  married  women ;  but  they  did  not 
bother  to  take  them  as  far  as  Saint-Denis  even. 

*  Ah  !  Monsieur  Goujet,  Monsieur  Goujet !  '  she  murmured, 
finding  nothing  else  to  say. 

*  In  short,  we  should  only  be  our  two  selves,'  he  resumed. 
*•  I  can't  bear  the  others,  you  understand.  When  I'm  fond  of 
a  person,  I  can't  endure  seeing  that  person  with  others.' 

But  Gervaise  was  recovering  herself ;  and  in  a  sober,  Een- 


240  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Bible  way  she  declined  the  offer.  *  It  isn't  possible,  Monsieur 
Goujet,'  che  said.  '  It  would  be  very  wicked.  I'm  married. 
I've  children — I  know  very  well  that  you  have  great  affection 
for  me,  and  that  I  cause  you  pain.  Only  we  should  suffer 
remorse ;  we  should  taste  no  happiness.  I,  also,  have  great 
friendship  for  you,  too  much  indeed  to  let  you  do  anything 
foolish.  And  it  would  certainly  be  very  foolish  indeed. — No, 
listen ;  we  had  far  better  remain  as  we  are.  We  esteem  one 
another ;  our  sentiments  are  the  same.  That  is  a  great  deal 
already ;  the  thought  of  it  has  sustained  me  many  a  time. 
When  people  in  our  position  keep  to  the  right  path,  they  have 
their  reward.' 

He  nodded  as  he  listened  to  her.  He  approved  what  she 
said ;  he  could  not  say  she  was  wrong.  But  suddenly,  in  the 
full  light  of  day,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
furiously,  as  though  he  wanted  to  devour  her.  Then  he 
released  her  and  drew  aside  without  a  word.  She  showed  no 
anger,  she  felt,  all  considered,  that  he  was  entitled  to  take 
that  kiss. 

He,  however,  was  now  quivering  from  head  to  foot, 
seeking  to  withstand  the  desire  to  clasp  her  once  again ;  and 
as  he  drew  away,  crawhng  on  his  knees,  not  knowing  how  to 
occupy  his  hands,  he  began  to  pick  dandelions,  and  from  a 
distance  throw  them  into  her  basket.  In  the  midst  of  the 
scorched  grass  there  were  some  superb  yellow  dandelions  ;  and 
little  by  little  the  occupation  he  had  found  calmed  and 
amused  him.  Though  his  fingers  were  stiffened  by  constant 
hammering  he  gathered  the  flowers  delicately,  threw  them 
one  by  one,  and  smiled  with  his  good  natured  dog-like  eyes 
whenever  he  did  not  miss  the  basket.  Meanwhile,  the  laun- 
dress, again  gay  and  tranquil,  reclined  against  the  dead  tree, 
and  raised  her  voice  to  make  herself  heard  above  the  panting 
noise  of  the  saw-mill.  When  they  quitted  the  plot  of  ground, 
walking  side  by  side  and  talking  of  Etienne,  who  was  very 
happy  at  Lille,  she  had  her  basket  full  of  dandelions. 

Truth  to  tell,  Gervaise,  at  heart,  when  she  was  in  Lantier's 
presence,  did  not  feel  as  courageous  as  she  claimed  to  be. 
She  was,  no  doubt,  honestly  resolved  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him  ;  and  yet  she  was  afraid  of  a  return  of  her  old-time 
cowardice,  that  feebleness  into  which  she  glided  just  to  please 
people.  Lantier,  however,  thenceforward  kept  quiet,  and 
seemed  intent  on  paying  his  attentions  to  others.  Gervaise 
would  talk  of  this  in  Goujet's  presence,  so  as  to  set  him  at 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  241 

ease ;  and  whenever  Virginia  and  Madame  Lerat  began  to 
sing  the  hatter's  praises,  she  would  tell  them  that  he  could 
very  well  do  without  her  admiration,  as  all  the  women  of  the 
neighbourhood  were  smitten  with  him. 

Coupeau  meantime  went  braying  about  everywhere  that 
Lantier  was  a  friend  and  a  true  one.  People  might  talk,  but 
he  knew  w^hat  he  knew,  and  did  not  care  a  straw  for  gossip. 
When  they  all  three  went  out  walking  on  Sundays,  he  would 
make  his  wife  and  the  hatter  walk  arm-in-arm  before  him, 
just  by  way  of  defying  people ;  and  he  was  quite  prepared  to 
administer  a  drubbing  to  anybody  who  might  venture  on  a 
joke.  No  doubt  he  considered  Lantier  a  trifle  stuck  up, 
accused  him  of  disdaining  *  vitriol,'  and  chaffed  him  because  he 
knew  how  to  read,  and  could  speak  like  a  barrister ;  but  apart 
from  these  matters  he  declared  that  his  lodger  was  a  jolly 
good  fellow.  One  could  not  have  found  two  other  men  like 
them  in  all  La  Chapelle.  They  understood  each  other ;  they 
had  both  been  cast  in  the  same  mould.  Besides,  friendship 
with  a  man  is  more  steadfast  than  love  with  a  woman. 

It  should  be  said  that  Coupeau  and  Lantier  were  for  ever 
junketing  together.  Lantier  would  now  borrow  money  of 
Gervaise — ten  francs,  twenty  francs  at  a  time,  whenever  he 
smelt  that  there  was  money  in  the  house.  And  on  those 
occasions  he  would  keep  Coupeau  away  from  work,  talk  of 
some  distant  errand,  and  take  him  off ;  and  then,  seated  oppo- 
site each  other  in  a  snug  corner  of  some  neighbouring 
restaurant,  they  would  treat  themselves  to  dishes  which  one 
cannot  get  at  home,  and  wash  them  down  with  bottles  of 
high-class  wine.  The  zinc-worker  would  have  preferred  a 
booze  in  the  hail-fellow-well-met  style  ;  but  he  was  impressed 
by  the  aristocratic  tastes  of  the  hatter,  who  would  search  the 
bill  of  fare  for  sauces  with  the  most  extraordinary  names. 
One  could  never  have  imagined  a  man  with  a  palate  so  deli- 
cate and  so  hard  to  please.  But  they  are  all  like  that,  it 
seems,  in  the  South  of  France.  Lantier,  for  his  part,  would 
have  nothing  heating  ;  he  discussed  each  dish  from  a  hygienic 
point  of  view,  and  even  sent  it  away  when  he  thought  it 
too  salt  or  too  peppery.  It  was  worse  still  if  there  was  a 
draught  in  the  restaurant ;  draughts  fiUed  him  with  mortal 
dread  ;  he  abused  the  whole  estabhshment  if  a  door  was  left 
ajar.  Withal,  he  was  very  stingy,  only  giving  the  waiter  a 
couple  of  sous  after  a  meal  costing  seven  or  eight  francs. 
Nevertheless,  people  trembled  before  him,  and  the  pair  were 

B 


242  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

well  known  along  the  outer  Boulevards,  from  Batignolles  to 
Belleville.  They  would  go  to  the  Grande  Rue  des  Batignolles 
to  eat  tripe  d  la  mode  de  Caen,  which  was  served  to  them  on 
metal  warmers  heated  with  charcoal.  Down  below  Mont- 
martre,  at  the  *  Town  of  Bar-le-Duc,'  they  obtained  the  best 
oysters  in  the  neighbourhood.  When  they  ventured  to  the 
top  of  the  height,  as  far  as  the  *  Galette  Windmill,'  they  had 
a  rabbit  sauU.  Then  the  *  Lilacs  '  in  the  Rue  des  Martyrs 
had  a  reputation  for  calf's  head  ;  whilst  the  restaurants  of 
the  *  Golden  Lion '  and  the  '  Two  Chestnut  Trees,'  on  the 
Chaussee  Clignancourt,  served  them  the  finest  of  stewed 
kidneys.  But  they  more  often  turned  to  the  left  towards 
Belleville,  where  there  was  always  a  table  kept  for  them 
at  the  *  Vintages  of  Burgundy,'  the  *  Blue  Dial,'  and  the 
*  Capuchin ' — reliable  establishments,  where  one  could  order 
whatever  one  pleased  with  one's  eyes  shut.  And  these  were 
sly  little  parties,  which  they  covertly  talked  of  on  the  morrow, 
whilst  trifling  with  Gervaise's  fried  potatoes.  One  day  when 
they  feasted  at  the  'Galette  Windmill,'  Lantier  actually 
brought  a  female  acquaintance  with  him. 

It  is  of  course  impossible  to  guttle  and  work  at  the  same 
time,  and  so,  since  the  hatter  had  made  one  of  the  family,  the 
zinc-worker,  already  lazy  enough,  had  got  to  the  point  of 
never  touching  a  tool.  Whenever  he  was  tired  of  knocking 
about  and  let  himself  be  prevailed  upon  to  start  a  job,  his 
mate  would  look  him  up,  chaff  him  unmercifully  at  finding 
him  hanging  to  his  knotted  cord  like  a  smoked  ham,  and  call 
to  him  to  come  down  and  have  a  glass  of  wine.  That  settled 
it :  the  zinc- worker  would  send  the  job  to  blazes,  and  start  on 
a  drinking  bout  which  lasted  for  days  and  weeks.  Oh,  it  was 
a  famous  bout,  a  general  review  of  all  the  dram-shops  of  the 
neighbourhood,  the  intoxication  of  the  morning  slept  off  at 
midday,  and  renewed  in  the  evening ;  the  goes  of  '  vitriol ' 
fast  following  one  upon  another,  all  count  of  them  being  lost 
in  the  depths  of  the  night,  through  which  they  stretched  away 
like  the  Venetian  lanterns  of  an  illumination,  until  the  last 
candle  disappeared  with  the  last  glass.  But  that  rogue  of  a 
hatter  never  kept  on  to  the  end.  He  allowed  the  other  to  get 
elevated,  then  gave  him  the  slip,  and  returned  home  smiling 
in  his  pleasant  way.  He  coloured  his  own  nose  decently, 
without  people  noticing  it.  When  one  got  to  know  him  well, 
one  could  only  tell  it  by  his  half-closed  eyes  and  forwardness 
with  the  fair  sex.    The  zino- worker,  on  the  contrary,  became 


THE    WILES    OF  THE   TEMPTER  243 

disgusting,  he  could  no  longer  drink  without  putting  himself 
into  the  most  dreadful  state  imaginable. 

In  this  wise,  towards  the  beginning  of  November,  Coupeau 
went  in  for  a  bout  which  ended  abominably,  both  for  himself 
and  others.  On  the  previous  day  he  had  been  offered  a  job. 
Lantier  this  time  was  full  of  fine  sentiments ;  he  lauded  work 
because  work  ennobles  man.  In  the  morning  he  even  rose 
before  daylight,  for  he  gravely  declared  that  he  wished  to 
accompany  his  friend  to  the  workshop,  honouring  in  him  the 
workman  really  worthy  of  the  name.  But  when  they  reached 
the  *  Little  Civet,'  which  was  just  opening,  they  went  in  just 
to  have  a  plum  in  brandy,  only  one,  by  way  of  toasting  the 
firm  observance  of  a  good  resolution.  However,  they  there 
found  Bibi- the- Smoker  who,  with  a  sulky  look  on  his  face, 
and  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  was  seated  on  a  bench  opposite 
the  counter. 

*  Hallo  1  here's  Bibi  having  a  snooze,'  said  Coupeau.  *  Have 
you  got  a  lazy  fit  on,  old  man  ?  * 

*  No,  no,*  replied  the  other,  stretching  his  arms.  *  It's  the 
employers  who  disgust  me.  I  sent  mine  to  the  right  about 
yesterday.     They're  all  blackguards,  all  scoundrels.' 

And  then  Bibi-the- Smoker  accepted  a  plum.  He  had,  no 
doubt,  been  waiting  for  some  one  to  stand  him  a  drink. 
Lantier,  however,  took  the  part  of  the  employers  ;  they  often 
had  very  hard  times,  as  he,  who  had  been  in  business  himself, 
well  knew.  Workmen  were  a  bad  lot  I  always  on  the  booze, 
not  caring  a  hang  for  their  work,  but  leaving  one  in  the  lurch 
at  some  pressing  moment,  and  only  putting  in  an  appearance 
again  when  their  money  was  all  gone.  For  instance,  there 
had  been  a  little  fellow  from  Picardy  in  his  employ,  whose  fad 
was  to  go  driving  about  in  cabs  ;  yes,  the  moment  he  had  got 
his  week's  screw,  he  took  cabs  for  days  together.  Was  that 
a  taste  worthy  of  the  worker  ?  But  all  at  once  Lantier  also 
began  to  attack  the  employers.  Oh,  he  saw  things  clearly,  he 
told  everyone  what  he  thought  of  them.  And,  after  all, 
employers  were  a  dirty  race,  fellows  without  the  least  shame, 
regular  man-eaters.  He,  thank  heaven,  could  sleep  with  an 
easy  conscience,  for  he  had  always  treated  his  men  as  friends, 
and  had  preferred  not  to  make  milHons  by  grinding  down  the 
poor  as  others  did. 

'Let's  be  off,  my  boy,*  he  added,  turning  to  Coupeau. 
We  must  be  good  or  we  shall  be  late.' 

Bibi-the- Smoker  iollowed  them,  swinging  his  arms.    Out- 

b2 


244  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

side,  the  sun  was  scarcely  rising,  and  the  pale  half-light 
seemed  dirtied  by  the  muddy  reflection  of  the  pavement. 
Some  rain  had  fallen  the  night  before,  and  the  temperature 
was  very  mild.  The  gas  lamps  had  just  been  turned  out ; 
the  Kue  des  Poissonniers,  in  which  shreds  of  night  rent  by 
the  houses  still  floated  about,  was  gradually  filling  with  the 
dull  tramp  of  workmen,  descending  towards  Paris.  Coupeau, 
with  his  tool -bag  slung  over  his  shoulder,  walked  along  in  the 
bouncing  manner  of  a  fellow  who  for  once  in  a  way  feels 
equal  to  any  amount  of  work.  But  all  at  once  he  turned 
round  and  asked :  *  Bibi,  are  you  game  for  a  job  ?  The  governor 
told  me  to  bring  a  pal  if  I  could.' 

*  Thanks,'  answered  Bibi-the-Smoker ;  *  I'm  taking  medi- 
cine. You  should  ask  My-Boots,  who  was  looking  out  for  a 
crib  yesterday.  Wait  a  minute.  My-Boots  is  most  likely  in  there.* 

And  as  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  street,  they  indeed 
caught  sight  of  My-Boots  inside  old  Colombe's.  Early  as  was 
the  hour,  the  *  Assommoir '  was  flaring,  the  shutters  down  and 
the  gas  lighted.  Lantier  remained  at  the  door,  telling 
Coupeau  to  make  haste,  as  they  had  only  ten  minutes  left. 

*  What  I  you're  going  to  that  rascal  Bourguignon's  ? ' 
yelled  My-Boots,  when  the  zinc-worker  had  spoken  to  him. 
*  You'll  never  catch  me  in  his  hutch  again  1  No,  I'd  rather  go 
till  next  year  with  my  tongue  hanging  out  of  my  mouth.  As 
for  you,  old  fellow,  you  won't  stay  there  three  days,  it's  I  who 
tell  you  so.' 

*  Eeally,  now,  is  it  such  a  dirty  hole  ? '  asked  Coupeau 
anxiously. 

*  Oh,  the  very  dirtiest.  You  can't  move  there.  The  ape's 
for  ever  on  your  back.  And  such  high  and  mighty  v/ays,  too 
— a  missus  who  always  says  you're  drunk,  a  shop  where  you 
mustn't  even  spit.  I  sent  'em  to  the  right  about  the  first  night, 
you  understand.' 

*  Good  ;  now  I'm  warned.  I  sha'n't  stop  there  for  ever. 
I'll  just  try  it  this  morning ;  but  if  the  governor  bothers  me, 
I'll  collar  him  and  plump  him  down  on  his  missus,  and  bang 
them  together  like  a  pair  of  soles  I ' 

Then  the  zinc-worker  shook  his  comrade's  hand  to  thank 
him  for  his  warning ;  and  he  was  moving  off,  when  My-Boots 
flew  into  a  temper.  What  1  was  that  fellow  Bourguignon 
going  to  prevent  them  from  having  a  drink  together  ?  Were 
men  no  longer  men,  then  ?  The  ape  could  very  well  wait  for 
five  minutes.    Thereupon  Lantier  entered  to  join  in  the  drink, 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  245 

and  the  four  men  stood  up  in  front  of  the  bar.  My-Boots, 
with  his  shoes  trodden  down  at  heel,  his  blouse  black  with 
filth,  and  his  cap  flattened  on  his  head,  yelled  and  rolled  his 
eyes  as  though  the  whole  'Assommoir '  belonged  to  him. 

*  I  say,  you  Borgia,'  he  called  to  old  Colombe,  *  give  ug 
some  of  your  yellow  stuff,  number  one  quality  ! ' 

When  old  Colombe,  pale  and  quiet  m  his  blue,  knitted 
waistcoat,  had  filled  the  four  glasses,  the  gentlemen  tossed  off 
the  liquor  so  as  not  to  let  it  get  flat. 

*  That  does  one  some  good  all  the  same,'  murmured  Bibi- 
the- Smoker. 

However,  that  animal  My-Boots  began  to  tell  them  some- 
thing awfully  comical.  He  had  been  so  drunk  on  the  previous 
Friday,  that  some  of  his  comrades  had  fixed  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth  with  a  handful  of  cement.  Anyone  else  would  have 
died  of  it ;  but  he  merely  drew  himself  up  and  strutted  about 
as  usual. 

'  Do  you  gentlemen  require  anything  more  ?  *  asked  old 
Colombe  in  his  oily  voice. 

*  Yes,  fill  up  again,'  said  Lantier.     '  It's  my  turn.* 

They  were  now  talking  of  women.  Bibi-the- Smoker  said 
that  he  had  taken  his  girl  to  an  aunt's  at  Montrouge  on  the 
previous  Sunday  ;  and  Coupeau  asked  for  news  of  the  '  Indian 
Mail,*  a  washerwoman  of  Chaillot,  who  was  known  in  the 
establishment.  However,  they  were  about  to  drink,  when 
My-Boots  shouted  to  Goujet  and  Lorilleux,  who  were  passing 
by.  They  came  to  the  door,  but  would  not  enter.  The 
blacksmith,  for  his  part,  did  not  care  to  take  anything.  As 
for  the  chain-maker  who,  pale  and  shivering,  had  his  hand  in 
his  pocket,  grasping  the  gold  chains  which  he  was  going  to 
deliver,  he  coughed,  and  asked  them  to  excuse  him,  as  the 
smallest  drop  of  brandy  always  laid  him  up. 

*  There  are  hypocrites  for  you  ! '  grunted  My-Boots.  *  I 
bet  they  have  their  drinks  on  the  sly.' 

However,  when  he  had  poked  his  nose  in  his  glass,  he 
attacked  old  Colombe.  *  You  old  villain,'  said  he,  '  you've 
changed  the  bottle !  You  know,  it's  no  good  your  trying  to 
doctor  your  vitriol  with  me  I  * 

The  dawn  was  now  spreading,  and  a  kind  of  half-light  lit 
up  the  '  Assommoir,*  where  the  landlord  was  turning  out  the 
gas.  Coupeau  had  begun  to  offer  excuses  for  his  brother-in 
law,  who  really  could  not  stand  drink,  which  after  all  was  no 
crime.     And  he  approved  even  of  Goujet's  behaviour,  for  it 


246  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

was  a  real  blessing  never  to  be  thirsty.  Then  he  talked  of 
going  off  to  work,  but  Lantier,  putting  on  his  grand  air, 
sharply  gave  him  a  lesson.  A  man  should  at  least  stand 
treat  in  his  turn  before  sneaking  off ;  he  ought  not  to  leave 
his  friends  like  a  prig,  even  when  it  was  a  question  of  going  to 
his  duty. 

*  Is  he  going  to  badger  us  much  longer  about  his  work  ? ' 
cried  My-Boots. 

*  So  this  is  your  turn,  sir  ?  *  asked  old  Colombo  of  Coupeau. 
The  zinc-worker  paid.     But  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of 

Bibi-the- Smoker,  the  latter  whispered  to  the  landlord,  who 
refused  with  a  shake  of  the  head.  My-Boots  understood  what 
was  up,  and  again  began  to  abuse  that  old  Jew,  Colombo. 
What  I  a  rascal  like  him  dared  to  behave  in  that  way  to  a 
comrade  I  Everywhere  else  one  could  get  a  drink  on  tick  I 
It  was  only  in  such  low  pepper-boxes  that  one  got  insulted  I 
However,  the  landlord  remained  quite  calm,  resting  his 
big  fists  on  the  edge  of  the  counter,  and  politely  saying : 

*  Lend  the  gentleman  some  money — that  will  be  far  simpler.' 

*  Thunder  I   yes,  I'll  lend  him   some,'  yelled  My-Boots. 

*  Here,  Bibi,  throw  his  money  in  his  face  I ' 

Then,  fairly  started,  and  annoyed  by  the  sight  of  the  bag 
slung  over  Coupeau's  shoulder,  he  continued,  speaking  to  the 
zinc-worker  :  '  You  look  like  a  wet-nurse.  Drop  your  brat. 
It'll  give  you  a  hump-back.' 

Coupeau  hesitated  for  an  instant;  and  then,  quietly,  as 
though  he  had  only  made  up  his  mind  after  considerable 
reflection,  he  set  his  bag  on  the  floor,  saying :  *  It's  too  late 
now.  I'll  go  to  Bourguignon's  after  lunch.  I'll  tell  him  that 
the  missus  was  ill.  Listen,  old  Colombe,  I'll  leave  my  tools 
under  this  seat,  and  I'll  call  for  them  at  twelve  o'clock.' 

Lantier  nodded  his  approval  of  this  arrangement.  A  man 
must  work,  no  doubt ;  only,  when  he  is  with  friends,  politeness 
passes  before  everything.  An  inclination  for  a  spree  had 
gradually  overcome  the  four  of  them,  and  they  stood  there 
with  heavy  hands,  and  exchanging  questioning  glances.  And 
as  soon  as  they  realised  that  they  had  five  hours'  idleness 
before  them,  they  were  suddenly  seized  with  a  noisy  joy, 
catching  each  other  friendly  slaps,  and  bawling  a,ffectionate 
words  in  each  other's  faces.  Coupeau,  who  in  particular  felt 
much  relieved  and  even  younger,  called  the  others '  old  bricks  ! ' 
They  had  one  more  round  of  drinks,  and  then  moved  off  to 
the  '  Sniffing  Flea,'  a  low  dram-shop  which  possessed  a  billiard 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  247 

table.  The  hatter  at  first  made  a  grimace,  for  it  was  not  a 
very  clean-looking  crib ;  the  brandy  there  cost  a  franc  the 
quart,  ten  sous  a  pint  in  two  glasses,  and  the  customers  had  so 
soiled  the  billiard  table  that  the  balls  fairly  stuck  to  it. 
However,  when  once  the  game  had  begun,  the  hatter,  who  was 
an  extremely  expert  player,  recovered  his  good  temper  and 
graciousness,  thrusting  his  chest  forward  and  wriggling  his 
hips  at  each  cannon  he  made. 

When  lunch  time  came,  Coupeau  had  an  idea.  He 
stamped  his  feet  and  exclaimed :  *  We  must  go  to  fetch 
Salted-Chops.  I  know  where  he  works.  We'll  take  him  to 
Mother  Louis's  to  have  some  stewed  pettitoes.' 

The  idea  was  greeted  with  acclamations.  Yes,  Salted- 
Chops,  otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst,  must  be  in  want 
of  some  pettitoes.  So  they  started  off.  The  streets  were 
yellowish,  and  a  fine  rain  was  falling.  But  the  tipplers  were 
already  too  warm  internally  to  feel  a  slight  watering  of  their 
limbs.  Coupeau  led  the  others  to  the  bolt  factory  in  the 
Kue  Marcardet,  and  as  they  arrived  there  a  good  half  hour 
before  the  time  when  the  workmen  usually  came  out,  he  gave 
a  lad  a  couple  of  sous  to  go  in  and  tell  Salted- Chops  that  his 
wife  was  ill  and  wanted  him  at  once.  The  blacksmith  made 
his  appearance,  strutting  along  but  looking  very  calm,  and 
already  scenting  a  tuck-out. 

'  Ah  1  you  jokers ! '  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of 
the  others  hiding  in  a  doorway.  *  I  guessed  as  much.  Well  I 
what  are  we  going  to  eat  ? ' 

Once  at  Mother  Louis's,  whilst  they  sucked  the  little 
bones  of  the  pettitoes,  they  again  fell  to  abusing  the  employer 
class.  Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst,  related 
that  at  his  crib  they  just  then  had  a  most  pressing  order  to 
execute.  So  the  boss  was  fairly  pleasant  for  the  time  being. 
One  might  be  late,  and  he  dared  say  nothing ;  he  no  doubt 
considered  himself  lucky  when  the  men  did  turn  up.  Besides, 
there  was  no  fear  that  any  one  would  ever  dare  to  give 
Salted-Chops  the  sack,  for  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  find 
fellows  of  his  talent  in  the  bolt-forging  line.  Then,  the  petti- 
toes having  been  disposed  of,  the  company  ordered  an  omelet. 
Each  drank  his  quart  of  wine.  Mother  Louis  had  her  wine 
sent  to  her  from  Auvergne — it  was  of  blood-like  hue,  and 
could  almost  be  cut  with  a  knife.  Things  were  now  begin- 
ning to  get  amusing ;  the  carouse  was  going  apace. 

'  What  do  you  think  is  the  boss's  latest  ?  '  cried  Salted- 


248  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Mouth  at  dessert.  *  Why,  he's  been  and  put  a  bell  up  in  his 
crib  !  A  bell,  indeed  1  that's  good  for  slaves.  Ah  well !  it 
can  ring  to-day  1  They  won't  catch  me  at  the  anvil  again  !  I've 
been  sticking  there  for  five  days  past,  and  may  well  give 
myself  a  rest.  If  he  has  the  cheek  to  fine  me,  I'll  send  him 
to  blazes.' 

*  For  my  part,'  said  Coupeau,  with  an  important  air,  *  I'm 
obliged  to  leave  you  ;  I'm  off  to  work.     Yes,  I  promised  my 

wife Amuse  yourselves ;  my  heart,  you  know,  remains 

with  my  pals.* 

The  others  chaffed  him.  But  he  seemed  so  decided  that 
at  last  they  all  accompanied  him  on  his  way  to  fetch  his  tools 
from  old  Colombe's.  He  there  took  his  bag  from  under  the 
seat  and  laid  it  on  the  floor  before  him,  whilst  they  had  a 
final  drink.  But  at  one  o'clock  the  party  was  still  standing 
glasses  round.  Then  Coupeau,  with  a  gesture  of  boredom, 
once  more  deposited  the  tools  under  the  seat.  They  were  in 
his  way  ;  he  could  not  get  near  the  counter  without  stumbling 
against  them.  It  was  all  too  absurd  to  think  of  working  that 
day ;  he  would  go  to  Bourguignon's  on  the  morrow.  The 
other  four,  who  meantime  were  quarrelling  over  the  question 
of  salaries,  were  not  at  all  surprised  when  the  zinc- worker, 
without  any  explanation,  proposed  a  little  stroll  along  the 
Boulevard,  just  to  stretch  their  legs.  It  had  left  off  raining, 
but  the  little  stroll  resolved  itself  into  their  trudging  along  for 
a  couple  of  hundred  paces  all  in  a  row  and  swinging  their 
arms.  They  no  longer  found  a  word  to  say,  incommoded  as 
they  were  by  the  fresh  air,  and  bored  at  being  out  of  doors. 
And  without  even  having  to  nudge  one  another  by  way  of 
consultation,  they  slowly  and  instinctively  ascended  the  Rue 
des  Poissonniers,  and  entered  Fran9ois's  tavern  to  drink  a 
glass  of  bottle  wine.  They  really  needed  it  to  pull  them 
together  again.  The  streets  were  altogether  too  depressing  ; 
it  was  so  muddy  in  them,  that  one  wouldn't  willingly  have 
turned  even  a  *  copper  '  out  of  doors.  Lantier  pushed  his 
comrades  inside  the  private  room  at  the  back  of  the  tavern  ; 
a  narrow  crib,  containing  but  one  table,  and  separated  from 
the  shop  proper  by  a  glazed  partition.  The  hatter  usually  pre- 
ferred to  colour  his  nose  in  private  rooms,  because  it  was  more 
respectable.  Were  they  not  all  very  comfortable  in  there  ? 
One  could  almost  thmk  oneself  at  home,  and  have  indulged 
in  a  nap  without  scruple.  He,  however,  called  for  the  news- 
paper, spread  it  out  open  before  him,   and  began  to   look 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  249 

through  it,  frowning  the  while.  Coupeau  and  My-Boots  had 
started  a  game  of  piquet.  Two  bottles  of  wine  and  five 
glasses  were  scattered  about  the  table. 

*  Well  1  what  do  they  say  in  that  rag  ?  '  asked  Bibi-the- 
Smoker  of  the  hatter.  Lantier,  after  an  interval,  reflied 
without  raising  his  eyes :  '  I'm  reading  the  report  of  the 
Chamber.  They're  not  repubUcans  at  all,  those  lazy 
scoundrels  of  the  Left !  Are  they  elected  by  the  people  merely 
to  swill  sugar  and  water  ?  Here's  one  who  believes  in  Provi- 
dence, and  makes  advances  to  those  dirty  ministers  I  If  I 
were  elected,  I'd  get  into  the  tribune  and  say  "  Eot "  to 
their  faces.     Yes,  nothing  more,  that  sums  up  my  opinion  I  * 

*  You  know  that  Badinguet's  had  a  fight  with  his  missus, 
before  the  whole  court,  don't  you  ?  '  responded  Salted-Chops, 
otherwise  Drink-without-Thirst.  '  'Pon  my  honour  it's  true  1 
And  all  about  nothing,  just  a  little  wrangle.  But  Badinguet 
was  a  bit  screwed.' 

*  Shut  up  with  your  politics  I  *  cried  the  zinc-worker. 
'  Eead  us  the  murders,  they're  much  more  amusing.' 

And  reverting  to  his  game,  he  declared  a  tierce  from  the 
nine  and  three  queens  as  follows :  *  I've  a  tierce  from  the 
sewer  and  three  doves.     The  crinolines  stick  to  me.' 

They  emptied  their  glasses,  and  then  Lantier  read  out : 
*  A  frightful  crime  has  just  spread  consternation  throughout 
the  locality  of  Gaillon,  in  the  Department  of  Seine-et-Marne. 
A  son  has  hacked  his  father  to  death  with  a  spade,  in  order 
to  rob  him  of  thirty  sous.' 

They  all  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  There  was  one,  dash  it 
all  1  whom  they  would  have  taken  great  pleasure  in  seeing 
guillotined  I  In  fact,  the  guillotine  was  not  severe  enough ; 
he  deserved  to  be  cut  into  mincemeat.  The  story  of  an 
infanticide  likewise  aroused  their  indignation  ;  but  the  hatter 
in  highly  moral  language  found  excuses  for  the  woman,  and 
cast  all  the  blame  on  her  seducer.  However,  they  waxed 
enthusiastic  on  hearing  of  the  exploits  of  the  Marquis  de  T — , 
who,  leaving  a  ball  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  had 
defended  himself  against  three  ruffians  on  the  Boulevard  des 
Invalides.  Without  even  taking  off  his  gloves,  he  had  rid 
himself  of  two  of  the  men  by  butting  them  in  the  stomach, 
and  had  then  led  the  third  by  the  ear  to  the  nearest  police- 
station.  Ah  I  there  was  a  smart  fellow  for  you  I  What  a 
pity  he  was  an  aristocrat  I 

'Listen  to  this,  now,'  continued  Lantier.    'Here's  some 


250  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

news  of  the  toffs.  The  Countess  de  Br^tigny  is  giving  her 
eldest  daughter  in  marriage  to  the  young  Baron  de  Valan9ay, 
aide-de-camp  to  His  Majesty.  The  wedding  trousseau  will 
contain  more  than  three  hundred  thousand  francs*  worth  of 
lace.' 

*  What's    that    to    us?'    interrupted     Bibi-the- Smoker. 

*  What  do  we  care  for  her  lace  ?  ' 

Then  as  Lantier  seemed  about  to  continue  his  reading, 
Salted-Chops,  otherwise  Drink- without-Thirst,  took  the  news- 
paper from  him,  and  sat  upon  it,  declaring  that  papers  were 
merely  so  much  rot. 

Meanwhile,  My-Boots,  who  had  been  looking  at  his  hand, 
triumphantly  banged  his  fist  on  the  table.  He  was  just 
scoring  ninety-three.     'I've  the    Revolution,'    he    shouted. 

*  A  quint  in  clubs.  That's  twenty,  isn't  it  ?  Then  tierce 
major  in  diamonds,  twenty-three  ;  three  kings,  twenty-six  ; 
three  jacks,  twenty-nine ;  three  aces,  ninety-two.  And  I  play 
year  one  of  the  Republic,  ninety-three.' 

*  You're  done  for,  old  boy,'  cried  the  others  to  Coupeau. 

They  ordered  two  fresh  bottles.  The  glasses  were  now  re- 
filled as  soon  as  they  were  emptied  ;  the  drinking  bout  waxed 
fast  and  furious.  Towards  five  o'clock,  things  even  began  to 
get  disgusting,  so  much  so,  that  Lantier  kept  very  quiet  and 
began  to  think  of  how  he  might  give  the  others  the  slip ; 
brawling  and  throwing  wine  about  was  not  his  style.  Just 
then,  as  it  happened,  Coupeau  stood  up  to  make  the 
drunkard's  sign  of  the  cross.  *  Montpernasse,'  said  he,  as  he 
touched  his  head  ;  *  Menilmonte,'  as  he  brought  his  hand  to 
his  right  shoulder  ;  *  La  Courtille,'  as  he  moved  it  to  the  left 
one,  and  *  Bagnolet,'  as  he  dealt  himself  a  blow  in  the 
stomach.  And  finally  hitting  his  chest,  he  shouted,  *  Stewed 
rabbit !  '  three  times  in  succession.  Then,  the  hatter,  taking 
advantage  of  the  clamour  which  greeted  the  performance  of 
this  feat,  quietly  made  for  the  door.  His  comrades  did  not 
even  notice  his  departure.  He  himself  had  already  had  a 
good  dose.  But,  once  outside,  he  shook  himself  and  regained 
his  self-possession  ;  and  quietly  made  for  the  shop,  where  he 
told  Gervaise  that  Coupeau  was  with  some  friends. 

Two  days  went  by.  The  zinc-worker  had  not  returned. 
He  was  reeling  about  the  neighbourhood,  but  no  one  knew 
exactly  where.  Various  persons,  however,  asserted  that  they 
had  seen  him  at  Mother  Baquet's,  at  the  '  Butterfly,'  and  at 
the  *  Little  Old  Man  with  a  Cough.'     Only,  some  said  that  he 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  251 

was  alone,  whilst  others  afiBrmed  that  he  was  in  the  company 
of  seven  or  eight  drunkards  like  himself.  Gervaise  shrugged 
her  shoulders  in  a  resigned  sort  of  way.  All  she  had  to  do 
was  to  get  used  to  it.  She  never  ran  about  after  her  old 
man  ;  if  she  caught  sight  of  him  inside  a  wine-shop,  she  even 
retraced  her  steps  and  went  whither  she  was  bound  by  some 
circuitous  route,  so  that  he  might  not  imagine  she  was  spying 
on  him ;  and  she  quietly  waited  at  home  till  he  returned, 
listening  at  night-time  to  ascertain  if  he  were  snoring  outside 
the  door.  He,  however,  would  sleep  on  a  rubbish  heap,  or  a 
bench,  or  in  a  piece  of  vacant  land,  or  even  across  a  gutter. 
On  the  morrow,  having  but  imperfectly  slept  off  his  carouse 
of  the  day  before,  he  would  set  out  again,  knocking  at  the 
doors  of  all  the  consolation  dealers,  plunging  afresh  into  a 
furious  batter,  amidst  nips  of  spirits,  glasses  and  quarts  of  wine, 
losing  his  friends,  and  then  finding  them  again,  going  long 
journeys,  whence  he  returned  in  a  state  of  stupor,  seeing  the 
streets  dance  before  his  eyes,  the  night  fall,  and  the  dawn 
appear,  without  any  other  thought  than  that  of  drinking, 
and  sleeping  off  the  effects  wheresoever  he  might  be. 
When  in  the  latter  state,  the  world  was  ended  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned.  Nevertheless,  on  this  occasion,  on  the 
second  day,  Gervaise  went  to  old  Colombe's  *  Assommoir  '  to 
inquire  about  him ;  he  had  been  there  another  five  times,  she 
heard,  but  they  were  unable  to  tell  her  anything  more.  All 
she  could  do  was  to  take  away  his  tools,  which  he  had  left 
under  the  seat. 

In  the  evening,  Lantier,  seeing  that  the  laundress  seemed 
very  much  worried,  offered  to  take  her  to  a  music-hall,  just  by 
way  of  passing  a  pleasant  hour  or  two.  She  refused  at  first, 
for  she  was  in  no  mood  for  laughing.  Otherwise,  she  would 
not  have  declined,  for  the  hatter  had  made  the  proposal  in 
too  straightforward  a  manner  for  her  to  mistrust  him.  He 
seemed  to  feel  for  her  in  quite  a  paternal  way.  Frequent  as 
were  Coupeau's  bouts  he  had  never  before  slept  out  two  nights 
in  succession.  And  so  every  ten  minutes,  in  spite  of  herself, 
she  would  go  to  the  door,  iron  in  hand,  and  look  up  and  down 
the  street  to  see  if  her  man  was  coming.  She  tingled,  she 
said,  in  such  a  way  that  she  could  not  keep  still.  Coupeau 
might  very  likely  get  a  limb  broken,  or  fall  under  some  vehicle 
and  stay  there,  which  all  considered  would  be  a  good 
riddance,  for  she  could  no  longer  entertain  the  least  affection 
for  such  a    disgusting    individual.    But    it  was  becoming 


252  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

extremely  annoying  to  have  to  ask  oneself  incessantly,  day 
after  day,  whether  he  would  return  that  night  or  not.  And 
at  last,  when  the  gas  lamps  were  lighted,  and  Lantier  again 
propose]  the  music-hall,  Gervaise  accepted  his  offer.  After 
all,  she  was  very  stupid  to  refuse  herself  some  enjoyment, 
when  for  three  days  past  her  husband  had  been  leading  such 
a  harum-scarum  life.  As  he  didn't  come  home,  she  would  go 
out  in  her  turn.  The  show  might  burn  down  if  it  liked.  She 
was  ready  to  set  it  on  fire  herself,  for  the  troubles  of  life  were 
beginning  to  disgust  her  with  everything. 

They  ate  their  dinner  quickly  ;  and  on  going  off  at  eight 
o'clock,  arm-in-arm  with  the  hatter,  Gervaise  told  Mother 
Coupeau  and  Nana  to  go  to  bed  at  once.  The  shop  was  shut. 
She  left  by  the  door  opening  into  the  courtyard  and  gave 
Madame  Boche  the  key,  asking  her  to  have  the  kindness  to 
put  her  pig  to  bed  should  he  happen  to  come  home.  The 
hatter,  meantime,  waited  for  her  under  the  porch,  arrayed  in 
his  best,  and  whistling  a  tune.  Gervaise  was  wearing  her 
silk  dress  ;  and  they  went  slowly  along  the  pavement,  walking 
close  to  one  another,  and  lighted  by  the  flashes  from  the  shop 
windows,  which  showed  them  smiling  and  chatting  in  low 
tones. 

The  music-haU  was  on  the  Boulevard  de  Eochechouart ;  it 
had  originally  been  a  little  caf6,  enlarged  by  the  erection  of  a 
kind  of  wooden  shed  in  the  courtyard.  At  the  door,  a  string 
of  glass  globes  simulated  a  luminous  porch.  Tall  posters 
pasted  upon  boards  stood  on  the  ground,  close  to  the 
gutter. 

*  Here  we  are,'  said  Lantier.  *  To-night,  first  appearance 
of  Mademoiselle  Amanda,  serio-comic' 

However,  just  then  he  caught  sight  of  Bibi-the- Smoker, 
who  was  also  reading  the  poster.  Bibi  had  a  black  eye ; 
some  knock  which  he  had  run  up  against  on  the  previous 
day. 

'  Well,  and  where's  Coupeau  ?  *  inquired  the  hatter,  looking 
about  him.     '  Have  you  lost  Coupeau,  then  ?  ' 

*  Oh  1  long  ago,  since  yesterday,'  replied  the  other.  *  There 
was  a  bit  of  a  mill  on  leaving  Mother  Baquet's.  I  don't 
care  for  fisticuffs.  But  there  was  a  row,  you  know,  with 
Mother  Baquet's  potboy,  because  he  wanted  to  make  us  pay 
for  a  quart  twice  over.  And  then  I  sloped  and  went  to  have 
a  snooze.* 

He  was  still  gaping,  though  he  had  slept  ten  hours  at  a 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  253 

stretch.  But  on  the  other  hand  he  was  quite  sobered.  His 
jacket  was  covered  with  fluff;  no  doubt  he  had  tumbled  into 
bed  with  his  clothes  on. 

'  And  you  don't  know  where  my  husband  is,  sir  ? '  asked 
the  laundress. 

*  Well,  no,  not  a  bit.  It  was  five  o'clock  when  we  left 
Mother  Baquet's.  That's  all  I  know  about  it.  Perhaps  he 
went  down  the  street.  Yes,  I  fancy  now  that  I  saw  him  go  to 
the  "  Buttterfly  "  with  a  coachman.  Oh  1  how  stupid  it  all 
is  I     Really,  we  deserve  to  be  shot  I  * 

Lantier  and  Gervaise  spent  a  very  pleasant  evening  at  the 
music-hall.  At  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  place  closed,  they 
strolled  home  without  hurrying.  It  was  rather  chilly,  the 
spectators  were  going  off  in  parties,  and  there  were  girls 
laughing  under  the  trees,  ai  the  pleasantries  of  the  men  who 
accompanied  them.  Lantier,  between  his  teeth,  sang  one  of 
Mademoiselle  Amanda's  songs,  '  It's  in  the  nose  that  it  tickles 
me,*  and  Gervaise,  who  was  in  a  giddy  state,  as  though 
intoxicated,  took  up  the  chorus.  She  had  felt  very  warm  all 
the  evening.  Moreover,  the  two  drinks  which  she  had  had, 
the  tobacco  smoke,  and  the  odour  of  so  many  people  crowded 
together  had  helped  to  upset  her.  Nevertheless,  she  came 
away  with  a  very  Hvely  impression  of  Mademoiselle  Amanda. 
She  herself  would  never  have  dared  to  appear  before  the 
public  in  so  scanty  a  toilet.  Still  she  had  to  admit  that  the 
lady  had  a  very  fine  figure,  and  she  listened  with  curiosity  to 
various  particulars  concerning  her,  which  Lantier  began  to 
retail. 

'  Every  one's  asleep,'  exclaimed  Gervaise,  when  they  had 
reached  the  house  and  had  rung  the  bell  three  times,  without 
getting  the  Boches  to  pull  the  string  by  which  the  door  was 
opened. 

At  length,  however,  it  did  open,  but  all  was  dark  under 
the  porch,  and  when  the  young  woman  knocked  at  the  window 
of  the  doorkeeper's  room  to  ask  for  her  key,  Madame 
Boche,  who  was  half  asleep,  called  out  some  rigmarole  of 
which  she  could  at  first  make  nothing.  She  eventually 
understood  that  Poisson,  the  policeman,  had  brought  Coupeau 
home  in  a  frightful  state,  and  that  the  key  was  no  doubt  in 
the  lock. 

'  Good  heavens  I  *  murmured  Lantier,  when  they  had  gone 
in,  *  whatever  has  he  been  up  to  here  ?  The  smell  is 
abominable.' 


254  THE  DRAM'SHOP 

When  Gervaise,  who  had  been  looking  for  the  matches,  at 
last  succeeded  in  lighting  a  candle,  a  horrible,  a  loathsome 
sight  greeted  their  eyes.  Coupeau  was  on  the  floor,  having 
fallen  no  doubt  from  the  bed,  where  Poisson  had  thrown  him, 
and  there  he  lay  snoring  amidst  unmentionable  filth,  like  a 
hog  wallowing  in  the  mire. 

*  Oh  1  the  pig !  the  pig  1  *  repeated  Gervaise,  indignant  and 
exasperated.  *  He's  dirtied  everything.  No,  a  dog  wouldn't 
have  done  such  a  thing,  a  dead  dog  is  cleaner.* 

Never  before  had  the  zinc-worker  come  home  in  such  a 
state ;  never  before  had  he  turned  the  place  into  such  a  pig- 
stye.  The  sight  dealt  a  great  blow  to  such  affection  as  his 
wife  still  had  for  him.  In  the  earlier  days,  when  he  had 
returned  elevated  or  even  tipsy,  she  had  shown  herself  kind, 
without  appearance  of  disgust.  But  this  time  it  was  too 
much,  her  whole  being  revolted.  She  would  not  have  touched 
him  with  a  pair  of  tongs.  And  she  shivered  with  repugnance 
at  the  thought  that  this  disgusting  sot  was  her  husband,  and 
she  his  wife. 

*  I  must  go  to  bed,  however,'  she  murmured.  *  I  can't 
sleep  in  the  street.     Oh  !  I'll  tread  on  him  sooner.' 

She  tried  to  step  over  the  drunkard,  but  had  to  catch  hold 
of  the  chest  of  drawers  to  save  herself  from  slipping, 
Coupeau  quite  blocked  the  way  to  the  bed.  Then,  Lantier, 
silently  laughing  to  himself,  took  hold  of  her  hand,  and  said  in 
a  low  and  ardent  voice  :  *  Gervaise ;  listen,  Gervaise.' 

But  she  had  understood.  She  freed  herself,  and  in  her 
bewilderment  addressed  him  familiarly  as  in  former  days. 
*  No,  leave  me.   I  implore  you,  Auguste,  go  away.' 

*  Don't  be  foolish,  Gervaise,'  he  resumed.  *It's  too 
abominable ;  you  can't  remain  here.' 

She  struggled,  and  energetically  shook  her  head.  And  in  her 
confusion,  as  though  to  show  that  she  intended  to  remain  there, 
she  divested  herself  of  her  silk  gown  and  flung  it  on  a  chair. 
Then  twice  again  she  tried  to  find  a  clear  space  to  enable  her 
to  get  past  the  prostrate  Coupeau. 

But  Lantier  was  there,  ever  seeking  to  restrain  her. 
Ah !  she  was  in  a  terrible  position,  with  a  hog  of  a  husband 
in  front  of  her,  and  an  unscrupulous  knave  in  the  rear,  whose 
only  thought  was  to  take  advantage  of  her  misfortune !  As 
the  hatter  raised  his  voice,  she  implored  him  to  keep  quiet. 
And  then  she  listened,  with  her  ear  inclined  towards  the  little 
room  occupied  by  Nana  and  Mother  Coupeau.     They  were  no 


THE    WILES  OF  THE   TEMPTER  955 

dottbt  asleep,  for  one  could  hear  a  heavy  breathiDg.  Then 
again  she  begged  Lantier  to  be  gone.  He  no  longer  spoke, 
but  stood  there  smiling ;  and  he  slowly  kissed  her  on  the 
ear,  just  as  he  had  often  done  in  olden  time  in  order  to 
tease  her.  At  this  her  strength  deserted  her;  she  felt  a 
great  buzzing  in  her  ears,  and  a  violent  tremor  shook  her. 
Yet,  she  took  another  step  forward ;  and  she  was  again 
obliged  to  draw  back.  It  was  not  possible,  her  disgust  was 
too  great. 

And  this  was  the  outcome  of  Drink,  this  was  one  example 
of  the  results  of  the  passion  for  strong  liquor  :  Man  degraded 
to  bestiality,  filling  the  woman  who  had  loved  him  with  horror 
and  loathing,  rending  the  last  shred  of  affection  felt  for  him, 
snapping  every  remaining  tie.  Coupeau,  lying  there  as  com- 
fortably as  on  a  bed  of  down,  was  sleeping  off  his  debauch, 
with  hfeless  limbs,  and  mouth  all  awry.  And  around  him 
were  nameless  horrors. 

*  So  much  the  worse  for  him,'  stammered  Gervaise  at  last, 
*  it's  his  fault,  his  fault  1  Ah !  good  heavens !  ah !  good 
heavens  I  he  himself  drives  me  away  ;  it's  all  his  fault.' 

She  trembled,  and  lost  her  head.  And  as  Lantier  was 
drawing  her  away,  Nana's  face,  pale  with  sleep,  appeared  at 
the  glass  door  of  her  little  chamber.  The  child  had  just 
awoke.  She  was  very  grave,  and  gazed  at  the  others  with 
dilated,  wondering  eyea. 


IX 

DOWN  HILL 

That  winter,  Mother  Coupeau  nearly  went  off  in  one  of  her 

stifling  fits.  Each  December  she  could  rely  on  her  asthma 
keeping  her  on  her  back  for  two  and  three  weeks  at  a  time. 
She  was  no  longer  a  girl,  she  would  be  seventy-three  on 
Saint-Anthony's  day.  With  that,  she  was  quite  worn  out, 
getting  a  rattling  in  her  throat  for  nothing  at  all,  though  she 
looked  still  big  and  plump.  The  doctor  said  she  would 
eventually  go  off  coughing,  with  just  time  to  say :  *  Good- 
night, Jeanneton,  the  candle's  out !  * 

When  she  was  confined  to  her  bed,  Mother  Coupeau  became 
positively  unbearable.  It  is  true  that  the  httle  room  which 
she  shared  with  Nana  was  not  at  all  a  gay  one.    Between 


2S6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

her  bedstead  and  the  child's,  there  was  only  just  space  enough 
for  a  couple  of  chairs.  Then  the  grey  wall-paper,  old  and 
faded,  hung  about  in  shreds  ;  and  the  little  round  window  near 
the  ceiling  admitted  but  a  pale  half  light,  like  that  of  a  cellar. 
Anyone  would  soon  have  got  old  in  such  a  crib,  especially  a 
person  who  could  scarcely  breathe.  At  night-time,  when  Mother 
Ooupeau  was  unable  to  sleep,  she  would  listen  to  the  child's 
breathing,  and  that  proved  some  occupation.  But,  in  the 
day-time,  as  the  others  did  not  keep  her  company  from  morning 
till  night,  she  was  ever  grumbling  and  sobbing,  and  repeating 
to  herself  for  hours  together,  while  she  rolled  her  head  on  the 
pillow :  '  Ah  I  good  heavens  I  what  a  miserable  creature  I 
am  1  Good  heavens !  what  a  miserable  creature  I  am  I 
They'll  leave  me  to  die  in  prison,  yes,  in  prison !  ' 

Then  as  soon  as  anyone  called,  Virginie  or  Madame  Boche, 
for  instance,  to  ask  after  her  health,  she  did  not  reply,  but 
started  on  her  chapter  of  grievances  :  '  Ah  !  the  bread  which 
I  eat  here  is  dear,  indeed  1  No,  I  could  not  suffer  so  much 
if  I  were  among  strangers  I  Listen,  I  wanted  a  cup  of  herb 
tea  ;  well  I  they  brought  me  a  water-jug  full,  just  by  way  of 
telUng  me  that  I  drink  too  much  of  it.  It's  the  same  with 
Nana,  that  child  whom  I  brought  up  ;  she  goes  off  barefooted 
in  the  morning,  and  I  don't  see  her  again  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  One  would  think  I  had  something  offensive.  Yet,  at 
night-time,  she  sleeps  precious  sound,  and  doesn't  once  wake 
up  to  ask  me  if  I'm  in  pain.  In  short,  I'm  in  their  way,  they're 
waiting  for  me  to  croak.  Oh  1  it  won't  take  long.  I've  no 
son  left  me  now,  that  hussy  of  a  laundress  has  taken  him 
from  me.  She'd  beat  me  and  finish  me  off,  if  she  were  not 
afraid  of  the  police.' 

Gervaise  was  indeed  rather  hasty  at  times.  The  place  was 
going  to  the  dogs,  their  tempers  were  all  soured,  and  they  sent 
one  another  to  the  right  about  for  the  least  word.  Coupeau,  one 
morning,  when  he  had  his  hair  out  of  curl,  exclaimed  :  *  The 
old  thing's  always  saying  that  she's  going  to  die,  and  yet  she 
never  does  ! '  words  which  struck  Mother  Coupeau  to  the  heart. 
She  was  reproached  with  what  she  cost,  and  it  was  coolly 
said  that  it  would  be  a  great  saving  if  she  were  no  longer  there. 
To  tell  the  truth,  neither  did  she  behave  as  she  ought  to  have 
done.  For  instance,  whenever  she  saw  her  eldest  daughter, 
Madame  Lerat,  she  unfolded  an  exaggerated  tale  of  woe, 
accusing  her  son  and  her  daughter-in-law  of  leaving  her  to 
starve — and  this  she  did  to  wheedle  twentv  sous  out  of  the 


DOWNHILL  257 

artificial  flower  maker,  which  twenty  sous  she  spent  in  sweet- 
meats. She  told  the  Lorilleux  some  abominable  stories  of 
the  laundress  spending  their  monthly  contribution  of  ten 
rancs  in  all  sorts  of  fancies  of  her  own,  new  caps,  cakes  eaten 
n  sly  corners,  and  so  forth.  On  two  or  three  occasions,  she 
almost  caused  a  general  fight  among  the  family  by  her 
gossiping  propensities.  At  one  moment  she  was  on  this  side, 
and  the  next  moment  on  that ;  in  short,  things  were  getting 
into  a  dreadful  mess. 

One  afternoon  when  she  was  at  her  worst  that  winter,  and 
Madame  Lorilleux  and  Madame  Lerat  happened  to  meet  at 
her  bedside,  Mother  Coupeau  winked  her  eye  as  a  signal  to 
them  to  lean  over  her.  She  could  scarcely  speak,  and  so 
rather  hissed  than  articulated :  '  Things  are  getting  decent. 
There's  no  doubt  about  the  Hobbler  and  the  hatter  now. 
Seeing  and  hearing's  believing,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

And,  in  short  sentences,  between  each  of  which  she  coughed 
and  choked,  she  went  on  to  relate  that  her  son  had  come 
home  very  drunk  the  night  before,  and  that  Gervaise  and 
Lantier  had  been  emboldened  by  the  circumstance.  The 
worst,  she  added,  was  that  httle  Nana,  though  she  said 
nothing,  seemed  to  be  quite  aware  of  what  was  going  on. 
The  other  women  did  not  appear  at  all  surprised  by 
these  tidings.  Madame  Lorilleux  believed  that  it  all  dated 
from  long  ago.  But,  however  dreadful  it  might  be,  since 
Coupeau  apparently  allowed  it,  she  saw  no  reason  to  interfere. 
Madame  Lerat,  on  the  contrary,  was  in  favour  of  frightening 
Gervaise  into  more  moral  courses.  In  the  result  the  whole 
neighbourhood  soon  knew  for  a  fact  that  Gervaise  and  Lantier 
were  again  on  their  old  footing. 

In  the  presence  of  neighbours,  Madame  Lorilleux  waxed 
noisily  indignant ;  she  pitied  her  brother,  that  noodle  who,  in 
sheer  desperation,  had  been  driven  to  drink  by  his  depraved 
wife  ;  and,  if  she  continued  to  visit  such  a  home,  it  was,  she 
said,  solely  on  account  of  her  poor  mother,  who  was  obliged 
to  hve  amidst  those  abominations.  Then  the  neighbourhood 
fell  upon  Gervaise.  It  must  have  been  she  who  had  inveigled 
the  hatter.  You  could  tell  it  by  her  eyes.  Yes,  in  spite  of  all 
the  nasty  rumours,  that  sly  knave  Lantier  remained  on  his 
pedestal,  simply  because  he  still  put  on  his  highly  respectable 
ways  with  everybody,  strolled  about  the  streets  reading  his 
newspaper  like  a  man  of  leisure,  and  invariably  showed  him- 
self attentive   and  gallant  with   the  ladies,   always  having 

s 


258  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

sweets  and  flowers  to  give  away.  And  after  all,  said  the 
gossips,  he  merely  acted  his  part ;  a  man  is  a  man,  and  one 
can't  ask  him  to  resist  every  woman  who  throws  herself  at 
his  head.  But  she,  Gervaise,  had  no  excuse ;  she  was  a 
disgrace  to  the  Eue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or.  And,  horrible  to  relate, 
the  Lorilleux,  enticed  their  goddaughter  Nana  to  their 
rooms  for  the  purpose  of  ferreting  out  particulars.  But  when 
they  questioned  the  child  in  a  roundabout  way,  she  put  on  a 
stupid  air,  and  lowered  her  vicious  eyes. 

Amidst  the  general  indignation,  Gervaise  lived  on  quiet, 
tired,  and  somewhat  sleepy.  At  first,  she  had  considered  her- 
self very  guilty,  an  object  of  horror  and  disgust.  For  a  while 
she  fled  alternately  from  her  husband  and  her  lover.  But  she 
gradually  became  accustomed  to  the  situation,  and  accepted  it. 
Sloth  was  destroying  all  her  energy — her  longing  to  be  happy 
made  her  seek  happiness  in  her  very  worries.  She  tried  to 
arrange  things  in  such  wise  that  no  one  should  be  over 
bothered.  Provided  that  the  household  went  on  in  its  usual 
jog-trot  way,  that  they  could  laugh  from  morn  till  night,  one 
and  all  of  them  plump  and  satisfied  with  life  and  taking  it 
easy,  there  could,  thought  she,  really  be  nothing  to  complain  of. 

Her  sense  of  wrong-doing  was  dimmed  by  the  easiness 
with  which  things  adjusted  themselves  to  general  satisfaction. 
One  is  usually  punished  if  one  does  what  is  wrong,  she  said  ; 
and  as  there  was  to  her  thinking  no  sign  of  punishment,  she 
considered  that  her  behaviour  could  not  be  so  very  culpable. 
In  this  wise,  misconduct  gradually  became  a  habit  with  her, 
the  more  so  as  Coupeau  came  home  drunk  at  least  every 
Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday. 

Mother  Coupeau  never  dared  to  speak  out  plainly  about  it 
all.  But,  after  a  quarrel,  whenever  the  laundress  had  rated 
her,  the  old  woman  was  unsparing  in  her  allusions.  She 
would  say  that  she  knew  men  who  were  precious  fools,  and 
women  who  were  precious  hussies ;  and  she  would  mutter  far 
more  biting  words  between  her  teeth.  The  first  time  that 
this  occurred  Gervaise  looked  her  straight  in  the  face,  without 
answering.  And  afterwards,  without  going  into  details  any 
more  than  the  other  did,  she  sought  to  defend  herself  in  a 
general  sort  of  way.  When  a  woman  had  a  drunkard  for  a 
husband,  a  pig  who  lived  in  filth,  she  had  every  excuse  on 
her  side.  If  husbands  wished  their  wives  to  remain  attached 
to  them,  they  should  at  least  hve  like  men,  and  not  like  hogs. 
And  she  went  even  farther,  giving  it  to  be  understood  that 


DOWNHILL  259 

Lantier,  when  all  waa  said  and  done,  was  as  much  her  husband 
as  Coupeau.  Had  she  not  borne  him  children  long  before  she 
had  ever  met  the  zinc- worker  ?  Well,  then,  in  such  circum- 
stances no  one  had  a  right  to  cast  stones  at  her.  She  claimed, 
in  fact,  that  her  conduct  was  simply  in  accord  with  the  laws 
of  nature.  Besides,  she  would  not  stand  being  bothered  by 
any  one.  She  would  precious  soon  give  them  all  a  bit  of  her 
mind.  The  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  was  not  such  a  very  decent 
place  1  Little  Madame  Vigouroux,  the  charcoal-dealer,  and 
Madame  Lehongre,  the  grocer's  wife,  were  even  far  worse  than 
herself.  The  clockmaker  opposite,  who  put  on  the  airs  of  a 
gentleman,  had  narrowly  escaped  the  criminal  court  for  most 
abominable  misconduct.  And,  with  sweeping  gestures,  she 
denounced  the  whole  neighbourhood,  went  on  for  an  hour 
bainging  all  sorts  of  dirty  linen  to  light.  Truth  to  tell, 
vice  infected  every  house  around  her.  In  that  corner  of  Paris 
there  were  terrible  goings  on,  born  of  the  promiscuity  which 
extreme  poverty  engenders. 

*  It  would  be  just  as  well  for  people  to  keep  from  spitting 
in  the  air,  for  what  they  spit  only  falls  again  on  their  own 
noses,'  Gervaise  would  say,  whenever  anybody  especially 
aggravated  her.  *  Every  one  for  himself  or  herself,  is  it  not 
so  ?  So  others  should  let  people  live  in  their  own  way,  if  they 
wish  to  live  in  theirs.  For  myself,  I'm  agreeable  to  every- 
thing, provided  that  I'm  not  dragged  through  the  gutter  by 
people  who  have  already  plunged  into  it  head  first.' 

Then  Mother  Coupeau,  having  one  day  been  more  pointed 
than  usual  in  her  remarks,  Gervaise  answered  her  with  teeth 
set :  *  You're  confined  to  your  bed,  and  you  take  advantage  of 
it.  Listen,  you're  wrong ;  I've  always  behaved  nicely  to  you, 
I've  never  thrown  your  past  hfe  in  your  teeth  !  Oh  !  I  know 
all  about  it !  A  fine  life  it  was ;  and  whilst  old  Coupeau  was 
alive,  too.  No,  don't  cough,  I've  finished.  I  just  wanted  to 
tell  you  to  mind  your  own  business — that's  aU  ! ' 

The  old  woman  almost  choked.  On  the  morrow,  as 
Goujet  came  to  the  shop  about  his  mother's  washing  when 
Gervaise  happened  to  be  out.  Mother  Coupeau  called  him  to 
her,  and  kept  him  for  some  time  seated  beside  her  bed.  She 
knew  all  about  the  blacksmith's  friendship,  and  for  some  time 
past  had  noticed  that  he  looked  extremely  wretched,  from  a 
suspicion  of  the  truth.  So,  out  of  revenge  for  the  quarrel  of 
.'he  day  before,  she  bluntly  told  him  everything,  weeping  and 
complaining  the  while  as  though  she,  more  than  anybody  else, 

s2 


a6o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

was  injured  by  Gervaise's  wicked  behaviour.  When  Goujet 
quitted  the  little  room,  he  leant  against  the  wall,  almost 
stifling  with  grief.  And  as  soon  as  the  laundress  returned 
home.  Mother  Coupeau  called  to  her  that  Madame  Goujet 
required  her  to  go  round  at  once  with  her  washing,  ironed  or 
not.  The  old  woman  spoke  with  so  much  animation  that 
Gervaise  guessed  what  had  taken  place,  and  had  a  presenti- 
ment of  the  chagrin  which  awaited  her. 

Very  pale,  her  limbs  already  trembling,  she  placed  the 
things  in  a  basket  and  started  off.  For  years  past  she  had 
not  refunded  the  Goujets  a  sou  of  their  money.  The  debt 
still  amounted  to  four  hundred  and  twenty-five  francs.  She 
always  spoke  of  her  embarrassments,  and  thus  got  paid  for 
the  washing.  It  filled  her  with  shame,  because  she  seemed 
to  be  taking  advantage  of  the  blacksmith's  friendship  to 
swindle  him.  Coupeau,  however,  far  less  scrupulous  than 
formerly,  would  merely  chuckle  and  call  Goujet  a  silly  muff. 
This  pained  Gervaise,  who  would  not  tolerate  a  word  against 
Goujet  in  her  presence ;  her  affection  for  him  remained  like 
a  last  shred  of  her  honour.  And  when  she  took  the  Goujets' 
washing  home  to, them,  she  felt  a  spasm  at  her  heart  the 
moment  she  set  foot  on  their  stairs.  That  day  it  came  on  her 
more  acutely  than  ever. 

'  Ah !  it's  you,  at  last  1  *  said  Madame  Goujet  sharply,  on 
opening  the  door  to  her.  *  When  I'm  in  want  of  death,  I'll 
send  you  to  fetch  him.* 

Gervaise  entered,  feeling  so  embarrassed  that  she  did  not 
even  dare  to  mutter  an  excuse.  She  was  no  longer  punctual, 
never  came  at  the  time  arranged,  but  would  even  keep  her 
customer  waiting  for  days  together.  Little  by  little  she  was 
giving  way  to  thorough  disorder. 

*  I've  been  expecting  you  for  a  week  past  I '  continued  the 
lace-mender.  '  You  tell  such  falsehoods  ;  you  send  your 
apprentice  to  me  with  all  sorts  of  stories  ;  you  are  busy  with 
my  things  and  will  deliver  them  the  same  evening,  or  else 
you've  had  an  accident,  the  bundle's  fallen  into  a  pail  of  water. 
Whilst  all  this  is  going  on,  I  waste  my  time,  nothing  turns 
up,  and  it  worries  me  exceedingly.  No,  you're  most 
unreasonable.  Come,  what  have  you  got  in  your  basket  ? 
Is  everything  there  now  ?  Have  you  brought  me  the  pair 
of  sheets  that  you've  been  keeping  back  for  a  month  past,  and 
the  chemise  which  was  missing  the  last  time  you  brought 
home  the  washing  ?  * 


DOWNHILL  a6i 

*  Yes,  yes,'  murmured  Gervaise,  *  the  chemise  is  there. 
Here  it  is.' 

But  Madame  Goujet  protested.  That  chemise  was  not 
hers,  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Her  things  were 
changed  now  ;  that  was  worse  than  anything  I  Only  the  week 
before,  Gervaise  had  brought  her  two  handkerchiefs  which 
hadn't  her  mark  on  them.  It  was  not  at  all  nice  to  have 
things  coming  home  from  no  one  knew  where.  Besides,  she 
wished  to  have  her  own  things.  *  And  the  sheets  ? '  she 
resumed.  *  They're  lost,  are  they  ?  Well  I  young  woman, 
you  can  say  what  you  like,  but  I  insist  upon  having  them  to- 
morrow morning,  do  you  hear  ?  * 

A  silence  ensued.  What  made  Gervaise  all  the  more 
embarrassed  was  the  consciousness  that  just  behind  her  the 
door  of  Goujet's  room  was  ajar.  The  blacksmith  must  be 
inside,  she  could  divine  it ;  and  how  unpleasant,  if  he  were 
listening  to  all  those -well-deserved  reproaches,  to  which  she 
could  urge  no  answer  1  She  became  very  submissive  and 
gentle,  bowing  her  head  and  placing  the  clean  linen  on  the 
bed  as  quickly  as  she  could.  But  matters  became  worse  when 
Madame  Goujet  began  to  look  over  the  things,  one  by  one. 
She  took  hold  of  them  and  threw  them  down  again,  saying  : 
'  Ah !  you  are  fast  losing  your  skill  1  One  can't  compli- 
ment you  every  day  now.  Yes,  you've  taken  to  mucking  your 
work — todoingit  in  a  most  slovenly  way.  Just  look  at  this  shirt- 
front,  it's  scorched,  there's  he  mark  of  the  iron  on  the  plaits,  and 
the  buttons  have  all  been  torn  off.  I  don't  know  how  you 
manage  it,  but  there's  never  a  button  left.  Oh  1  here's  a 
petticoat  body  which  I  certainly  won't  pay .  you  for.  Look 
there  !  The  dirt's  still  on  it,  you've  simply  smoothed  it  over. 
So  now  the  things  are  not  even  clean  1 ' 

She  stopped  whilst  she  counted  the  different  articles. 
Then  she  exclaimed,  *  What  I  is  this  all  you  brought  ?  There 
are  two  pairs  of  stockings,  six  napkins,  a  table-cloth,  and 
several  dish-cloths  short.  You're  trifling  with  me,  it  seems  1 1 
sent  word  that  you  were  to  bring  me  everything,  ironed  or  not. 
If  your  apprentice  isn't  here  in  an  hour's  time  with  the  rest 
of  the  things,  we  shall  fall  out,  Madame  Coupeau,  I  warn  you.' 

At  this  moment  Goujet  coughed  in  his  room.  Gervaise 
gave  a  slight  start.  How  she  was  treated  before  him,  good 
heavens !  And  she  remained  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  embarrassed,  confused,  and  waiting  for  the  dirty 
clothes  ;  but,  after  making  up  the  account,  Madame  Goujet 


262  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

quietly  returned  to  her  seat  near  the  window,  and  resumed  the 
mending  of  a  lace  shawl. 

*  And  the  dirty  things  ? '  timidly  inquired  the  laundress. 

*  No,  thank  you,'  replied  the  old  woman,  *  there's  nothing 
this  week.* 

Gervaise  turned  pale.  She  was  no  longer  to  have  the 
washing.  Then  she  quite  lost  her  head ;  and  was  obliged  to 
sit  down  on  a  chair,  for  her  legs  were  giving  way.  And  she 
did  not  attempt  to  defend  herself.  All  that  she  could  find  to 
say  was  this  :  *  Is  Monsieur  Goujet  ill  ?  ' 

Yes,  he  was  feeling  queer.  He  had  been  obliged  to  come 
home  instead  of  returning  to  the  forge,  and  had  gone  to  lie 
down  on  his  bed  to  get  a  rest.  Madame  Goujet,  gowned  in 
black  as  usual,  her  white  face  encircled  by  a  monachal  cap, 
spoke  very  gravely.  The  bolt-maker's  wages  had  again  been 
lowered.  From  nine  francs  they  had  fallen  to  seven,  on 
account  of  the  machinery,  which  now  did  almost  all  the 
work.  And  she  explained  that  they  were  obliged  to  economise 
in  everything  ;  so  that  in  future  she  intended  to  do  her  own 
washing  as  formerly.  In  these  circumstances  she  would 
naturally  have  been  well  pleased  if  the  Coupeaus  had  been 
able  to  return  her  the  money  lent  them  by  her  son ;  but  she 
was  not  going  to  set  the  lawyers  on  them,  as  they  were  unable 
to  pay.  Since  she  had  begun  to  speak  of  the  debt,  Gervaise, 
with  bowed  head,  seemed  to  be  following  the  quick  move- 
ments of  her  needle,  as  it  went  on  working  fresh  meshes 
wherever  there  was  a  rent  in  the  shawl  she  was  mending. 

*  All  the  same,'  continued  Madame  Goujet, 'by  pinching 
yourselves  a  little  you  could  manage  to  pay  it  off.  For,  really 
now,  you  live  very  well ;  you  spend  a  great  deal,  I'm  sure. 

If  you  were  only  to  pay  off  ten  francs  a  month *    But  she 

was  interrupted  by  Goujet  calling  :  *  Mamma  I  mamma  1  ' 

And  when  she  returned  to  her  seat,  which  was  almost 
immediately,  she  changed  the  conversation.  The  blacksmith 
no  doubt  had  begged  her  not  to  ask  Gervaise  for  money  ;  but, 
in  spite  of  herself,  some  five  minutes  afterwards  she  again 
spoke  of  the  debt.  Oh  I  she  had  foreseen  what  was  happen- 
ing— the  zinc-worker  was  drinking  up  the  shop,  and  would 
lead  his  wife  a  fine  dance.  Had  her  son  only  listened  to  her 
he  would  never  have  lent  the  five  hundred  francs.  He  would 
have  married,  and  would  not  now  have  been  wasting  away 
with  sadness,  with  the  prospect  of  being  miserable  for  all  the 
rest  of  his  life.     Going  on  in  this  wise,   the  old  woman 


DOWNHILL  263 

gradually  became  excited,  and  very  harsh,  plainly  accusing 
Gervaise  of  having  arranged  with  Coupeau  to  take  advantage 
of  her  fooUsh  child.  Yes,  there  were  women  who  wore  the 
mask  of  hypocrisy  for  years,  but  whose  bad  character  was  at 
last  displayed  in  the  full  light  of  day. 

*  Mamma  1  mamma  I '  again  called  Goujet,  but  this  time  in 
a  louder,  more  violent  voice. 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  and  when  she  returned  she  said, 
as  she  resumed  her  mending,  '  Go  in,  he  wishes  to  see  you.' 

Gervaise,  all  of  a  tremble,  left  the  door  open.  The  scene 
filled  her  with  emotion,  because  it  was  like  an  avowal  of 
their  affection  before  Madame  Goujet.  And  once  more  she 
beheld  the  quiet  little  chamber,  with  its  narrow  iron  bedstead, 
and  walls  covered  with  pictures  from  the  illustrated  papers, 
the  whole  looking  like  the  room  of  some  lad  of  fifteen. 
Stretched  at  full  length  on  the  bed  was  that  big  fellow 
Goujet,  quite  overcome  by  Mother  Coupeau's  disclosures,  his 
eyes  red  and  swollen,  his  beautiful  yellow  beard  still  wet  with 
the  tears  that  had  fallen  on  it.  In  the  first  moment  of  rage 
he  must  have  pommelled  his  pillow  with  his  terrible  fists,  for 
the  ticking  was  split  and  the  feathers  were  coming  out. 

*  Listen,  mamma's  wrong,'  said  he  to  the  laundress,  in  a 
voice  that  was  scarcely  audible.  *  You  owe  me  nothing,  I 
won't  have  it  spoken  of.' 

He  had  raised  himself  up,  and  was  looking  at  her.  Big 
tears  at  once  came  to  his  eyes  again. 

*Do  you  sufi'er,  Monsieur  Goujet?*  she  murmured. 
*  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  tell  me.' 

*  Nothing,  thanks.  I  tired  myself  too  much  yesterday.  I 
must  sleep  a  bit.'  Then,  his  heart  breaking,  he  could  not 
restrain  this  cry  :  *  Ah,  my  God  1  my  God  1  it  was  never  to  be 
— never  I  You  swore  it  1  And  now  it  is — it  is  I  Ah,  my 
God  !  it  pains  me  too  much,  leave  me  1 ' 

And  with  his  hand  he  gently  and  imploringly  motioned  to 
her  to  go.  She  did  not  draw  nearer  to  the  bed,  but  went  off 
as  he  requested  her  to  do,  in  stupor,  unable  to  say  anything 
to  soothe  him.  When  she  reached  the  other  room,  she  took 
up  her  basket.  Still  she  did  not  leave,  she  stood  there  trying 
to  find  something  to  say.  Madame  Goujet  continued  her 
mending  without  raising  her  head.  It  was  she  who  at  length 
exclaimed :  *  Well  I  good-night ;  send  me  back  my  things, 
we  will  settle  afterwards.' 

*  Yes,  it  will  be  best  so — good-night,'  stammered  Gervaise. 


264  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

She  closed  the  door  slowly,  giving  a  last  glance  at  that 
clean  and  tidy  home,  where  she  seemed  to  be  leaving  behind 
her  a  part  of  her  respectabihty.  And  she  walked  back  to  her 
shop  in  much  the  same  stupid  manner  as  cows  return  to  their 
Bhed,  without  troubling  themselves  about  the  road.  Mother 
Coupeau,  who  had  just  left  her  bed  for  the  first  time,  wag 
sitting  on  a  chair  beside  the  big  stove.  But  the  laundress 
did  not  even  utter  a  reproach.  She  felt  too  weary,  her  bones 
ached  as  though  she  had  been  beaten.  She  was  thinking 
that  life  was  indeed  too  hard,  and  that  unless  one  wanted  to 
kill  oneself  right  off,  one  could  not  well  tear  one's  heart 
out. 

From  that  time  forward,  Gervaise  became  indifferent  to 
everything.  With  a  vague  gesture  of  her  hand,  she  would 
send  everybody  about  his  or  her  business.  At  each  worry  she 
buried  herself  deeper  in  her  only  pleasure,  which  was  to  have 
three  meals  a  day.  The  shop  might  have  collapsed,  so  long 
as  she  was  not  beneath  it :  she  would  have  gone  off  willingly 
without  a  chemise  to  her  back.  And  the  shop  was  collapsing, 
not  suddenly,  but  little  by  little,  morning  and  evening.  One 
by  one  her  customers  got  angry  with  her,  and  sent  their 
washing  elsewhere.  M.  Madinier,  Mademoiselle  Eemanjou, 
and  even  the  Boches  returned  to  Madame  Fauconnier,  with 
whom  they  could  count  on  greater  punctuality.  People  get 
tired  of  asking  for  a  pair  of  stockmgs  for  three  weeks  together, 
and  of  putting  on  shirts  with  grease  stains  dating  from  the 
previous  Sunday.  Gervaise,  however,  without  missing  a  bite, 
wished  them  a  pleasant  journey,  and  spoke  her  mind  about 
them,  saying  that  she  was  precious  glad  she  would  no  longer 
have  to  poke  her  nose  into  their  horrid  rags.  Ah,  well  I  the 
whole  neighbourhood  might  withdraw  its  custom,  it  would 
rid  her  of  a  fine  lot  of  dirt.  And  besides,  there  would  be  so  much 
work  the  less.  Meanwhile,  she  merely  retained  such  customers 
as  paid  badly,  disreputable  characters,  and  persons  like  the 
Gaudrons.  whose  washing  not  a  laundress  of  the  Rue  Neuve 
would  touch.  The  shop  was  done  for.  She  had  to  discharge 
her  last  workwoman,  Madame  Putois ;  and  was  left  alone 
with  her  apprentice,  that  squint-eyed  Augustine,  who  became 
more  and  more  stupid  ihe  bigger  she  grew.  Yet  even  the  pair  of 
them  did  not  always  have  sufficient  work.  They  would  sit  on 
their  stools  doing  nothing  for  entire  afternoons.  In  short, 
there  was  a  regular  collapse.     The  whole  place  smelt  of  ruin. 

Naturally  enough,  the  entrance  of  idleness  and  poverty 


DOWNHILL  265 

was  attended  by  that  of  dirt.  One  would  never  have  recog- 
nised the  beautiful  blue  shop,  the  colour  of  heaven,  -which  had 
once  been  Gervaise's  pride.  Its  window-frames  and  panes, 
which  were  never  washed,  remained  covered  with  splashes 
from  passing  vehicles.  From  the  brass  rods  of  the  shop-front 
hung  three  grey  rags,  left  by  customers  ^ho  had  died  in  some 
hospital.  And  the  place  inside  was  more  pitiable  still ;  the 
damp  from  the  clothes  hung  up  to  dry  had  loosened  all  the 
wall-paper ;  that  imitation  Pompadour  chintz  hung  in  strips 
like  cobwebs  heavy  with  dust;  the  big  stove,  broken,  per- 
forated by  the  rough  handling  of  the  poker,  looked  like  some 
remnant  belonging  to  a  dealer  in  old  iron  ;  and  one  might 
have  thought  that  a  whole  regiment  had  tippled  and  guttled 
at  the  work-table,  covered  as  it  was  with  wine  and  coffee 
Btains,  sticky  with  jam,  greasy  from  Monday  junketings. 
And  there  was  an  odour  of  stale  starch,  a  stench  of  mustiness, 
burnt  fat,  and  filth.  But  Gervaise  felt  very  comfortable  there. 
She  had  not  noticed  that  the  shop  was  getting  dirty ;  she 
surrendered  herself  to  her  surroundings  as  it  were,  grew  used 
to  the  torn  wall-paper  and  the  greasy  wood-work,  even  as  she 
got  into  the  way  of  wearing  torn  skirts,  and  of  scarcely 
washing  herself.  To  her  the  dirt  even  formed  a  warm  nest 
which  she  enjoyed.  To  let  things  take  care  of  themselves,  to 
wait  for  the  dust  to  stop  up  all  chinks,  and  cover  everything 
as  with  a  coat  of  velvet,  to  feel  the  house  grow  heavy  and 
lifeless  with  sloth,  was  a  voluptuous  pleasure  which  intoxi- 
cated her. 

Her  own  ease  was  her  sole  consideration  ;  she  did  not  care 
a  pin  for  anything  else.  Her  debts,  though  they  were  still 
increasing,  no  longer  troubled  her.  Her  probity  was 
gradually  disappearing ;  whether  she  would  be  able  to  pay  or 
not  was  uncertain,  and  she  preferred  not  to  know.  When 
her  credit  was  stopped  at  one  shop,  she  opened  an  account  at 
another.  She  was  in  debt  all  over  the  neighbourhood,  at 
every  few  yards  there  was  some  place  where  she  owed  money. 
To  take  merely  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  she  no  longer 
dared  to  pass  the  grocer's,  or  the  charcoal-dealer's,  or  the 
greengrocer's ;  and  this  obliged  her  whenever  she  went  to  the 
wash-house,  to  make  a  circuitous  round  by  way  of  the  Rue 
des  Poissonniers.  At  last  the  tradespeople  came  and  called 
her  a  swindler.  One  evening,  the  man  who  had  sold  the 
furniture  for  Lantier's  room  drew  a  crowd  round  the  place, 
by  shouting  that  he  would  spank  her  if  she  did  not  fork  out 


266  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

his  money.  Such  scenes,  of  course,  left  her  trembling ;  still, 
she  soon  shook  herself  like  a  cur  that  had  been  beaten,  and 
there  was  an  end  of  it ;  she  did  not  dine  any  the  worse  after- 
wards. The  tradespeople  were  a  lot  of  insolent  scoundrels  to 
come  bothering  her  I  She  had  no  money ;  she  could  not 
make  any,  could  she  ?  Besides,  tradespeople  robbed  everyone ; 
they  were  made  to  wait.  And  then  she  would  again  fall 
asleep  in  her  hole,  careful  not  to  dream  of  what  must  some 
day  surely  happen.  She  would  take  the  leap,  no  doubt  ;  but 
until  the  time  came  she  was  determined  not  to  be  bothered. 

Meanwhile,  Mother  Coupeau  had  recovered,  and  for  another 
year  the  household  jogged  along.  Duiing  the  summer  there 
was  naturally  a  little  more  work,  such  as  the  white  petticoats 
and  cambric  dresses  of  the  hussies  of  the  exterior  Boulevard. 
The  catastrophe  was  approaching  slowly  ;  the  home  sank  a 
little  deeper  into  the  mire  every  week.  There  were  ups  and 
downs,  however — days  when  the  cupboard  was  quite  bare, 
and  others  when  one  ate  enough  veal  to  make  one  burst. 
Mother  Coupeau  was  for  ever  being  seen  in  the  street.  With 
bundles  hidden  under  her  apron,  she  strolled  in  the  direction 
of  the  pawn- place  in  the  Rue  Polonceau.  She  put  on  the 
pious,  yearning  air  of  a  devotee  going  to  mass  ;  for  she  did 
not  dislike  these  errands  ;  haggling  about  money  amused  her  ; 
to  play  the  part  of  a  garrulous  old  clo'  dealer  tickled  her  fancy, 
old  gossip  as  she  was.  The  clerks  in  the  Rue  Polonceau 
knew  her  well,  and  called  her  mother  '  Four  Francs,'  because 
she  invariably  asked  for  four  francs  when  they  offered  her  three 
on  her  parcels,  which  were  scarcely  bigger  than  a  pat  of  butter. 
Such  a  mania  for  *  popping '  things  had  now  come  upon 
Gervaise,  that  if  it  had  been  possible,  she  would  have  pawned 
the  whole  place,  have  had  her  head  shaved,  if  she  could  only 
have  got  a  loan  on  her  hair.  It  was  too  convenient ;  one 
could  not  help  sending  to  the  pawn-shop  for  money  when  one 
was  in  want  of  a  four-pound  loaf.  Everything  found  its  way 
thither — linen,  coats  and  gowns,  even  tools  and  furniture.  At 
first,  she  took  advantage  of  her  good  weeks  to  get  various 
articles  out  again,  even  though  she  had  to  send  them  back 
the  week  afterwards.  But  at  last  she  gave  up  caring  for 
her  things,  and  either  let  the  tickets  run  out,  or  sold  them. 

One  thing  alone  gave  her  a  pang — it  was  having  to  pawn 
her  clock  to  pay  an  acceptance  for  a  petty  amount  to  a  pro- 
cess server,  who  threatened  to  seize  her  goods.  Until  then, 
she  had  sworn  that  she  would  rather  die  of  hunger  than  part 


DOWNHILL  267 

with  her  clock.  When  Mother  Coupeau  carried  it  away  in  a 
little  bonnet-box,  she  sank  upon  a  chair,  strengthless,  her 
eyes  full  of  tears,  as  though  a  fortune  were  being  torn  from 
her.  But  when  Mother  Coupeau  reappeared  with  five  francs 
more  than  the  amount  required  to  get  rid  of  the  man,  this 
unexpected  profit  on  the  transaction  consoled  her.  She  at 
once  sent  the  old  woman  out  again  for  four  sous'  worth  of 
brandy  in  a  glass,  in  order  just  to  toast  the  five-franc  piece. 
Often  now,  when  they  were  on  good  terms  together,  they 
would  share  a  drink,  generally  a  mixture,  half  brandy  and 
half  black  currant  ratafia,  on  a  corner  of  the  work-table. 
Mother  Coupeau  had  the  knack  of  bringing  back  the  glass  in 
her  apron  pocket  without  spilling  a  drop  of  the  liquor. 
There  was  no  need  for  the  neighbours  to  know,  was  there  ? 
In  point  of  fact,  however,  the  neighbours  knew  perfectly  well. 
The  greengrocer,  the  tripe-seller,  the  grocer's  men  would  often 
Bay  to  one  another  :  *  Hallo !  the  old  woman's  off  to  uncle's,* 
or  else :  *  Hallo  I  the  old  girl's  bringing  her  liquor  in  her 
pocket.'  And  naturally  enough  this  increased  the  general  out- 
cry against  Gervaise.  She  guttled  everything ;  she  would  soon 
have  made  an  end  of  her  shanty.  Yes,  yes,  only  three  or  four 
more  mouthfuls,  and  there  wouldn't  be  a  straw  left. 

In  the  midst  of  the  general  collapse,  Coupeau  continued 
to  prosper.  This  abominable  tippler  enjoyed  remarkable 
health.  Green  wine  and  'vitriol'  positively  fattened  him. 
He  ate  a  great  deal,  and,  laughing  at  Lorilleux,  who  accused 
drink  of  killing  people,  he  slapped  himself  on  the  stomach, 
which  was  getting  as  big  as  a  drum.  Lorilleux,  annoyed  at 
being  so  thin  himself,  declared  that  his  brother-in-law  was 
simply  putting  on  bad  fat.  But  all  the  same,  Coupeau  went 
on  carousing,  just  for  the  sake  of  his  health,  as  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  saying.  His  wavy  hair,  now  all  pepper  and  salt,  was 
burning  away  like  hghted  punch ;  his  sottish  face,  with  its 
apish  jaw,  was  colouring  after  the  fashion  of  a  pipe,  assuming 
the  purple  tinge  of  wine.  And  gaiety  remained  his  only  care ; 
he  treated  his  wife  quite  roughly  whenever  she  took  it  into 
her  head  to  tell  him  of  her  embarrassments.  Were  men  made 
to  go  into  any  such  bothering  matters  ?  The  show  might 
want  bread,  but  that  was  nothing  to  him.  He  required  his  fill 
morning  and  evening,  and  never  troubled  himself  as  to  where 
it  came  from.  Indeed,  during  weeks  of  idleness  he  became 
more  exacting  than  ever.  At  the  same  time,  he  still  gave 
Lantier  friendly  slaps  on  the  shoulders  ;  and  whatever  his  sister, 


268  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Madame  Lerat,  might  insinuate  to  the  contrary,  it  seemed 
certain  that  he  was  ignorant  of  his  wife's  misconduct.  Lantier 
also  continued  to  thrive.  He  took  great  care  of  himself,  measur- 
ing his  girth  by  the  waistband  of  his  trousers,  with  a  constant 
fear  of  having  to  loosen  the  buckle  or  draw  it  tighter,  for  he 
considered  his  figure  just  perfect  as  it  was,  and  did  not  wish  to 
get  either  fatter  or  thinner.  This  made  him  hard  to  please 
in  the  matter  of  food,  for  he  studied  every  dish  from  the 
standpoint  of  his  waist.  Even  when  there  was  no  money  in 
the  house,  he  required  eggs,  cutlets,  all  sorts  of  light  and 
nourishing  things.  Nowadays,  he  considered  himself 
entitled  to  fully  half  of  everything  in  'the  place ;  picked  up 
any  twenty-sou  pieces  which  happened  to  be  lying  about, 
made  Gervaise  obey  all  his  behests,  grumbled,  yelled,  and 
seemed  more  at  home  than  the  zinc-worker  himself.  In 
short,  the  place  had  two  masters,  the  more  cunning  of  whom 
— Lantier — secured  the  best  share  of  everything.  Briefly,  he 
was  skimming  the  Coupeaus,  and  no  longer  took  the  trouble 
to  hide  it.  Nana  continued  to  be  his  favourite,  because  he 
liked  nice  little  girls  ;  and  he  paid  less  and  less  attention  to 
ifetienne,  for  boys,  said  he,  ought  to  know  how  to  get  on  by 
themselves.  Whenever  anyone  called  and  asked  for 
Coupeau,  the  hatter  was  always  to  be  found  there,  in  slippers 
and  shirt  sleeves,  and  would  answer  for  Coupeau,  saying  that 
it  was  just  the  same. 

Between  these  two  gentlemen,  Gervaise  did  not  lead  a  very 
merry  life.  She  had  nothing  to  complain  of  as  regards 
her  health,  thank  goodness  !  She  also  was  growing  too  fat. 
But  Coupeau  and  Lantier  were  always  falling  foul  of  her. 
They,  themselves,  got  on  very  well  together.  They  never 
quarrelled,  but  of  an  evening  after  dinner  would  sit  chuckling 
in  each  other's  faces,  with  their  elbows  resting  on  the  table. 
And  all  day  long,  too,  they  chummed  together.  On  the 
occasions  when  they  came  home  in  a  rage,  it  was  on  Gervaise 
that  they  vented  their  feelings.  Go  it !  hammer  and  tongs  ! 
She  had  broad  shoulders,  and  to  yell  in  unison  made  them 
all  the  better  friends.  And  it  never  did  for  her  to  give  them 
tit-for-tat. 

At  first,  whenever  one  of  them  shouted,  she  would  give 
the  other  an  imploriuig  look  to  obtain  a  good  word  from  him. 
Only,  this  seldom  succeeded,  so  now  she  bent  her  fat 
shoulders  and  bore  it  all  meekly  enough,  realising  that  it 
amused  them  to  jostle  her  about,  she  was  so  round,  a  perfect 


DOWNHILL  269 

ball.  Coupean,  who  was  very  foul-mouthed,  often  treated 
her  to  some  abominable  language  ;  Lantier,  on  the  contrary, 
chose  his  insults,  thinking  of  words  which  no  one  else 
made  use  of,  and  which  wounded  her  all  the  more.  Luckily, 
people  get  accustomed  to  everything  ;  and  so  the  bad  words  and 
injustice  of  the  two  men  ended  by  gliding  off  her  smooth  skin 
as  off  oil-cloth.  And  at  last  she  even  preferred  them  angry, 
for  when  they  were  in  a  good  humour  they  bothered  her  far 
more.  They  would  pester  her  for  dainty  dishes  :  she  was  to 
Bait  this,  and  not  to  salt  that,  say  white  and  say  black,  nurse 
them,  and  make  much  of  them  in  turn.  At  the  week's 
end  her  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  and  her  eyes  looked  like  a 
lunatic's.     Such  an  existence  soon  wears  out  a  woman. 

This  was  exactly  the  case  with  Gervaise.  One  night,  she 
dreamt  that  she  was  at  the  edge  of  a  well ;  Coupeau  was 
knocking  her  into  it  with  a  blow  of  his  fist,  whilst  Lantier 
tickled  her  in  the  ribs  to  make  her  fall  the  quicker.  Well  1 
that  just  resembled  her  life.  With  such  surroundings,  it  was 
not  at  all  surprising  if  she  fell  lower  and  lower.  The  people 
of  the  neighbourhood  were  not  altogether  just  when  they 
reproached  her,  for  her  misfortune  was  not  of  her  own 
making.  At  times,  when  she  began  to  ponder,  a  shiver 
coursed  through  her  frame.  But  then  she  would  think  that 
things  might  have  turned  out  even  worse  than  they  had. 
And  finally,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  position  was  perfectly 
natural ;  for  there  were  so  many  similar  households  scattered 
through  Paris.  And  her  one  thought  was  to  make  the  best  she 
could  of  it.  Things  were  settling  down  indeed  in  such  wise  that 
she  no  longer  disliked  Coupeau  any  more  than  she  did  Lantier. 
Yet  at  the  outset  of  this  new  chapter  in  her  life  she  had  regarded 
the  drunkard  with  horror  and  loathing.  That  had  been  the 
immediate  cause  of  her  downfall.  But  when  once  one  is 
familiar  with  degradation,  one  regards  with  equanimity  things 
that  previously  appalled  one.  In  a  play,  at  the  Gaiety, 
Gervaise  saw  a  hussy  who  abhorred  her  husband  poison  him 
for  her  lover's  sake  ;  and  this  made  her  angry,  because  she 
felt  nothing  of  the  sort  in  her  own  heart.  Was  it  not  more 
sensible  to  live  on  all  together  in  a  friendly  manner  ?  No,  no, 
none  of  such  nonsense ;  it  upset  one's  Ufe,  which  was  not  so 
amusing  as  it  was.  In  short,  in  spite  of  all  the  debts,  in  spite 
of  the  poverty  which  threatened  them,  she  would  have  been 
comfortable  and  content,  if  the  zinc-worker  and  the  hatter 
had  only  behaved  to  her  more  reasonably  than  they  did. 


a7o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Towards  the  autumn,  unfortunately,  things  became  worse, 
Lantier  pretended  that  he  was  getting  thin,  and  pulled  a 
longer  and  longer  face  every  day.  He  grumbled  at  everything, 
sniffed  at  the  dishes  of  potatoes — a  mess  that  he  could  not 
eat,  he  would  say,  without  getting  ill.  And  the  least  jangling 
now  turned  to  quarrels,  in  which  they  accused  one  another  of 
being  the  cause  of  all  the  troubles  of  the  household.  When 
there  is  no  bran  left,  the  donkeys  fight  together,  do  they  not  ? 
Lantier  scented  the  coming  destitution,  and  it  exasperated 
him  to  find  that  the  place  was  already  eaten  up,  so  completely 
cleaned  out,  that  before  long  he  must  needs  take  his  hat  and 
seek  both  nest  and  grub  elsewhere.  He  had  grown  accustomed 
to  this  nook,  where  he  had  fallen  into  little  habits  and  been 
coddled  by  every  one  ;  a  regular  happy  land,  the  delights  of 
which  he  would  never  be  able  to  replace.  But  then  one 
cannot  stuff  oneself  and  still  have  all  that  one  has  swallowed 
on  one's  plate.  He  became  enraged  with  his  stomach,  for 
after  all,  it  was  into  his  stomach  that  everything  had  gone. 
But  he  did  not  reason  in  that  way  ;  he  felt  fiercely  indignant 
with  the  others  for  having  allowed  themselves  to  be  cleared 
out  in  two  years.  Eeally  now,  the  Coupeaus  were  not  shrewd. 
And  he  maintained,  too,  that  Gervaise  was  not  sufficiently 
economical.  Jove's  thunder  I  what  would  become  of  them  all  ? 
His  friends  were  failing  him  just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of 
concluding  a  fine  stroke  of  business,  six  thousand  francs  salary 
in  a  manufactory,  sufficient  to  enable  the  whole  little  family 
to  lead  an  easy  life. 

Qoe  evening  in  December  they  had  no  dinner  at  all.  There 
was  not  a  radish  left.  Lantier,  who  was  very  glum,  would 
now  often  go  off  early,  wandering  about  in  search  of  some 
other  den  where  the  smell  of  cookery  made  people  cheerful. 
At  other  times  he  would  remain  for  hours  beside  the  stove 
wrapt  in  thought.  Then,  suddenly,  he  began  to  evince  great 
friendship  for  the  Poissons.  He  no  longer  chaffed  the 
policeman  by  calling  him  Badinguet,  but  even  went  so  far  as 
to  admit  that  the  Emperor  was  perhaps  a  decent  fellow.  And 
he  seemed  to  entertain  particular  esteem  for  Virginie,  a  woman 
of  sense,  he  would  say,  who  would  know  right  well  how  to 
bring  her  ship  home.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  getting  on 
the  right  side  of  the  Poissons.  One  might  even  have  thought 
that  he  was  trying  to  arrange  to  board  with  them.  But  he 
had  a  far  more  intricate  plan  than  that  in  his  head.  Virginie, 
having  acquanted  him  with  her  desire  to  set  up  in  some  sort 


DOWNHILL  271 

of  business,  he  had  eagerly  declared  her  idea  to  be  a  brilliant 
one.  She  was  just  the  person  for  trade — tall,  engaging,  and 
active.  Oh !  she  would  make  as  much  profit  as  she  liked. 
As  the  needful  money — a  legacy  from  an  aunt — was  there 
already,  it  was  quite  right  of  her  to  throw  up  the  few  dresses 
she  had  to  make  each  season,  and  start  in  business ;  and  he 
mentioned  persons  who  were  making  their  fortunes :  for 
instance,  the  greengrocer  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  a 
little  china-dealer  on  the  outer  Boulevard ;  for  the  times  were 
splendid,  one  might  even  have  sold  the  sweepings  from  one's 
counters.  Nevertheless,  Virginie  hesitated ;  she  was  looking 
for  a  vacant  shop,  and  did  not  wish  to  leave  the  neighbourhood. 
Then,  Lantier  would  take  her  into  corners  and  converse  with 
her  in  undertones  for  ten  minutes  at  a  time.  He  seemed  to 
be  urging  her  to  do  something,  and  she  no  longer  said  *  No,* 
but  appeared  to  authorise  him  to  act.  It  was  a  secret  between 
them,  a  frequent  exchange  of  winks  and  rapid  words,  some 
mysterious  understanding,  the  existence  of  which  could  be 
divined  merely  by  the  manner  in  which  they  shook  hands. 

From  that  time  forward  the  hatter  would  covertly  watch 
the  Coupeaus  whilst  eating  their  dry  bread,  and,  growing 
very  talkative  again,  would  deafen  them  with  continual 
jeremiads.  So  persistently  did  he  enlarge  on  the  poverty  of 
the  household,  that  Gervaise  could  no  longer  forget  it  for  an 
instant.  He  did  not  speak  for  himself,  of  course  not  I  He 
would  starve  with  his  friends  as  much  as  one  Uked.  Only, 
prudence  required  that  the  position  should  be  fully  understood. 
They  owed  at  least  five  hundred  francs  in  the  neighbourhood 
— to  the  baker,  the  charcoal-dealer,  the  grocer,  and  the  others. 
Moreover,  they  were  two  quarters'  rent  in  arrear,  which  meant 
two  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ;  the  landlord,  M.  Marescot,  had 
even  spoken  of  having  them  evicted,  if  they  did  not  pay  him 
by  January  1.  Finally,  the  pawn- place  had  absorbed  every- 
thing, one  could  not  have  got  three  francs'  worth  of  odds  and 
ends  together,  so  complete  had  been  the  clearance.  The  naila 
remained  in  the  walls,  and  that  was  all,  and  perhaps  there 
were  two  pounds  weight  of  them,  worth  three  sous  a  pound. 
At  this  Gervaise,  thoroughly  entangled  in  it  all,  her  nerves 
quite  upset  by  Lantier's  arithmetic,  would  fly  into  a  passion 
and  bang  her  fists  upon  the  table,  or  else  burst  into  tears  like 
a  fool.  One  night  she  exclaimed  :  *  I'll  be  off  to-morrow  !  I 
prefer  to  put  the  key  under  the  door  and  sleep  on  the  pave- 
ment rather  than  continue  living  in  such  frights.* 


27a  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

'  It  would  be  wiser,'  said  Lantier  slyly,  *  to  get  rid  of  the 
lease,  if  you  could  find  some  one  to  take  it.  When  you  both 
have  made  up  your  minds  to  give  up  the  shop ' 

She  interrupted  him  yet  more  violently  :  '  At  once,  at 
once  !     Ah  !  it'll  be  a  good  riddance  !  ' 

Then  the  hatter  became  very  practical.  By  giving  up  the 
lease,  one  might  no  doubt  get  the  two  overdue  quarters  from 
the  new  tenant.  And  he  ventured  to  mention  the  Poissons, 
reminded  the  Coupeaus  that  Virginie  was  looking  for  a 
shop,  and  suggested  that  theirs  might  perhaps  suit  her.  He 
remembered  that  he  had  heard  her  say  she  longed  for  one  just 
like  it.  But  at  the  mention  of  Virginie,  the  laundress 
suddenly  regained  her  composure.  One  would  see  about  it ; 
one  always  talked  of  giving  up  everything  when  one  was  in  a 
passion,  only  the  thing  did  not  seem  quite  so  easy  when  one 
took  time  to  think  it  over. 

In  vain  did  Lantier  harp  upon  the  subject  during  the 
ensuing  days;  Gervaise  replied  that  she  had  seen  herself 
worse  off  and  had  pulled  through.  How  would  she  be  any  the 
better  off  when  she  no  longer  had  her  shop  ?  The  loss  of  it 
would  not  put  bread  into  her  mouth.  No,  on  the  contrary, 
she  would  engage  some  fresh  workwomen,  and  work  up  a  fresh 
connection.  She  said  this  for  the  sake  of  struggling  against 
the  sound  arguments  of  the  hatter,  who  showed  her  that  she 
was  on  the  ground,  crushed  by  the  weight  of  expenses,  and 
without  the  least  prospect  of  ever  getting  into  the  saddle 
again.  But  he  once  more  made  the  mistake  of  mentioning 
Virginie,  and  Gervaise  then  became  furiously  obstinate.  No, 
no,  never  !  She  had  always  had  her  doubts  of  Virginie ;  if 
Virginie  coveted  the  shop,  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  humbling 
her.  She  would  perhaps  have  handed  it  over  to  the  first 
woman  in  the  street,  but  not  to  that  big  hypocrite  who  had 
certainly  been  waiting  for  years  to  see  her  take  the  plunge. 
Oh,  that  explained  everything.  She  could  now  understand 
why  yellow  sparks  had  shone  at  times  in  that  creature's  cat- 
like eyes  1  Yes,  Virginie  still  remembered  the  spanking  she 
had  received  at  the  wash-house  ;  she  had  been  quietly  nursing 
her  rancour  all  along.  Well,  she  would  do  wisely  to  put  her 
spanking  under  glass,  if  she  did  not  wish  to  receive  a  second 
one.  It  would  not  take  long  ;  she  could  get  ready  for  it  at 
once. 

In  face  of  this  outpour  of  spiteful  words,  Lantier  began 
by  attacking  Gervaise,  calling  her  wooden-head,  slander-box 


DOWNHILL  273 

mother  grumbler,  and  so  forth ;  and  afterwards  he  abused 
Coupeau,  who,  said  he,  did  not  know  how  to  make  his  wife 
respect  his  friends.  Then,  realising  that  passion  might  com- 
promise everything,  he  swore  that  he  would  never  again 
interest  himself  in  other  people's  affairs,  for  one  always  got 
more  kicks  than  thanks  ;  and  indeed  he  appeared  to  give  up 
all  idea  of  urging  them  to  part  with  the  lease,  though  in 
reality  he  was  simply  watching  for  a  favourable  opportunity 
to  broach  the  subject  again,  and  bring  the  laundress  round  to 
his  own  views. 

January  had  now  arrived,  with  horrible  weather,  both 
damp  and  cold.  Mother  Coupeau,  who  had  coughed  and 
choked  throughout  December,  was  obliged  to  take  to  her  bed 
after  Twelfth-night.  This  was  her  annuity,  which  she  looked 
forward  to  every  winter.  But  that  time,  every  one  who  knew 
her  said  that  she  would  only  leave  her  room  feet  foremost ; 
and  she  had  in  all  truth  an  awful  rattling  in  her  throat,  with 
the  real  coffin  ring  about  it.  Moreover,  she  was  already  blind 
of  one  eye,  and  one  half  of  her  face  was  twisted,  albeit  she  still 
remained  big  and  plump.  Her  children,  sure  enough,  would 
never  have  finished  her  off,  only  she  had  been  lingering  so 
long,  and  proved  such  an  encumbrance  that  her  death  was 
secretly  desired — as  a  deliverance  for  everybody.  She  herself 
would  be  far  happier  if  she  went  off,  for  she  had  lasted  her 
time,  had  she  not  ?  and  when  one  has  lasted  one's  time,  one 
has  nothing  to  regret.  The  doctor  who  had  been  called  in 
once  had  not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  return.  The  others 
gave  her  some  diet-drink,  by  way  of  not  abandoning  her 
entirely ;  and  every  hour  or  so  some  one  looked  in  to  see  if 
she  were  still  alive.  She  no  longer  spoke,  the  stifling  sensa- 
tion which  she  experienced  was  too  great ;  but  with  her  eye 
that  was  still  hale  and  bright,  she  looked  fixedly  at  those  who 
came  near  her.  And  many  were  the  things  which  her  glance 
expressed  :  regret  for  youth,  sadness  at  seeing  her  family  so 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  her,  and  anger  with  Nana,  who,  now  that 
the  old  woman  was  impotent,  openly  indulged  in  all  sorts  of 
pranks. 

One  Monday  evening,  Coupeau  came  home  in  a  fearful 
state  of  intoxication.  Ever  since  his  mother  had  been  in 
danger,  he  had  hved  in  a  state  of  deep  emotion,  which  only 
copious  hbations  could  soothe.  When  he  was  in  bed,  snoring 
soundly,  Gervaise  turned  about  the  place  for  a  while.  She 
was  in  the  habit  of  watching  Mother  Coupeau  during  part  of 


274  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  night.  Nana,  however,  showed  herself  very  brave,  always 
sleeping  beside  the  old  woman,  and  saying  that  if  she  should 
hear  her  die,  she  would  warn  everyone.  That  night,  as  the 
child  was  asleep,  and  the  invalid  appeared  to  be  dozing 
peaceably,  the  laundress  at  last  thought  that  she  also  might 
lie  down.  But,  towards  three  o'clock,  she  abruptly  jumped 
out  of  bed,  shivering  and  oppressed  with  anguish,  for  it  had 
seemed  to  her  as  if  a  cold  breath  had  just  passed  over  her. 
She  tied  on  her  petticoats  in  the  dark,  all  bewildered,  and  with 
feverish  hands ;  and  it  was  only  when  she  got  into  the  little 
room,  after  knocking  against  the  furniture,  that  she  was  able 
to  light  a  small  lamp.  In  the  dark  and  oppressive  silence,  the 
zinc-worker's  snores  alone  were  to  be  heard.  Nana,  stretched 
on  her  back,  was  breathing  gently  between  her  pouting  lips  ; 
and  Gervaise,  holding  down  the  lamp,  which  sent  big  shadows 
dancing  about  the  room,  cast  the  light  on  Mother  Coupeau's 
face,  and  saw  that  she  was  quite  white,  with  her  head  lying 
on  one  shoulder,  and  her  eyes  wide  open.     She  was  dead. 

Gently,  without  uttering  a  cry,  icy  cold  yet  prudent,  the 
laundress  went  to  warn  Lantier.  He  was  in  bed  and  appar- 
ently asleep.  She  bent  over  him,  and  murmured:  *I  say, 
it's  all  over,  she's  dead.* 

Half  waking,  he  at  first  merely  grunted  :  *  Leave  me  alone. 
We  can't  do  her  any  good  if  she's  dead.'  Then  raising  him- 
self on  his  elbow,  he  inquired :  '  What's  the  time  ?  * 

*  Three  o'clock.* 

*  Only  three  o'clock  I  Only  three  o'clock  I  Oh  !  that's  too 
early,  and  it's  so  precious  cold.  When  it's  daylight,  we'll  see 
what's  to  be  done.' 

At  this  she  began  to  protest,  but  he  rolled  himself  up  in 
his  blanket  again,  and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  muttering 
something  about  the  obstinacy  of  women.  What  need  was 
there  of  such  a  hurry  to  let  everyone  know  that  there  was  a 
death  in  the  house  ?  It  was  doubly  dismal  in  the  middle  of 
the  night ;  and  he  was  exasperated  at  having  his  rest  broken 
by  unpleasant  thoughts.  However,  when  Gervaise  had  re- 
turned to  her  own  room,  she  sat  down  and  sobbed  to  her 
heart's  content.  At  bottom,  she  really  loved  Mother  Coupeau, 
and  though  at  first  she  had  only  experienced  the  usual 
feeling  of  dread  which  the  presence  of  death  induces,  coupled 
with  annoyance  at  the  choice  of  such  an  awkward  hour  for 
going  off,  she  now  felt  genuine  grief.  And  she  wept  abun- 
dantly and  all  alone  in  the  silence,  while  the  zinc-worker 


DOWN  HILL  275 

never  once  paused  in  his  snoring.  He  heard  nothing ;  she 
had  shaken  and  called  him,  and  then  had  decided  to  let  him 
sleep  on,  reflecting  that  there  would  only  be  fresh  worry  if  he 
should  awake.  On  returning  to  the  body,  she  found  Nana 
sitting  up  and  rubbing  her  eyes.  The  child  understood  what 
had  happened,  and,  with  vicious  curiosity,  stretched  out  her 
neck  to  get  a  better  view  of  her  grandmother.  She  said 
nothing,  but  trembled  slightly,  alike  surprised  and  satisfied 
in  presence  of  this  death  which  she  had  been  coveting  for 
two  days  past,  even  as  children  wiU  covet  and  desire  hidden, 
forbidden  things.  And  her  young  cat-like  eyes  dilated  at 
sight  of  that  white  face,  emaciated  at  the  last  hiccough  by 
the  passion  of  life ;  and  she  remained  there,  stiffened,  rooted  to 
the  spot  as  it  were,  just  as  at  other  times  she  remained  behind 
the  glass  door  of  the  room  spying  on  what  did  not  concern  her. 

'  Come,  get  up,'  said  her  mother  in  a  low  voice.  *  You 
can't  remain  here.' 

At  last  Nana  regretfully  slipped  out  of  bed,  turning  her 
head  and  keeping  her  eyes  upon  the  corpse.  Gervaise  waa 
much  worried  about  her,  not  knowing  where  to  put  her  till 
day-time.  And  she  was  about  to  tell  her  to  dress  herself, 
when  Lantier  entered  in  his  trousers  and  sHppers.  He  had 
been  unable  to  get  to  sleep  again,  and  felt  rather  ashamed 
of  his  previous  behaviour.  Then  everything  was  speedily 
arranged.  *  She  can  sleep  in  my  bed,'  he  murmured. 
*  She'll  have  plenty  of  room.' 

Looking  at  her  mother  and  Lantier  with  her  big  clear 
eyes.  Nana  put  on  her  stupid  air,  the  same  that  she  assumed  on 
New  Year's  day  when  anyone  made  her  a  present  of  a  box  of 
chocolate  drops.  And  there  was  no  need  for  them  to  hurry 
her ;  she  trotted  off  in  her  night-gown,  her  bare  feet  scarcely 
touching  the  tiled  floor,  glided  like  a  snake  into  the  bed  which 
was  still  warm,  and  promptly  buried  herself  in  it.  However, 
she  did  not  sleep.  Her  mother,  whenever  she  entered  the 
room,  found  her  lying  there,  with  eyes  wide  open,  apparently 
deep  in  thought. 

Lantier  assisted  Gervaise  to  dress  Mother  Coupeau,  which 
was  not  an  easy  matter,  for  the  body  was  a  heavy  weight. 
One  would  never  have  thought  that  the  old  woman  was  so 
fat,  and  so  white.  They  put  on  some  stockings,  a  white 
petticoat,  a  short  linen  jacket,  and  a  white  cap  ;  in  short,  the 
best  of  her  linen.  Coupeau  meantime  continued  to  snore, 
now  venting  a  high  note,  and  now  a  low  one,  the  first  sharp, 

t2 


276  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  other  flat ;  one  might  almost  have  fancied  that  he  wag 
playing  some  funereal  church  music.  When  the  corpse  was 
dressed  and  properly  laid  out  on  the  bed,  Lantier  poured 
himself  out  a  glass  of  wine,  for  he  felt  quite  upset.  Gervaise 
was  searching  the  chest  of  drawers  for  a  little  brass  crucifix 
which  she  had  brought  from  Plassans ;  but  she  suddenly 
recollected  that  Mother  Coupeau  herself  had  sold  it.  They 
had  lighted  the  stove  ;  and  they  passed  the  rest  of  the  night 
dozing  on  chairs,  and  finishing  the  bottle  of  wine  that  had 
been  opened,  worried  and  grumpish  the  while  as  though  it 
was  all  their  own  fault. 

Towards  seven  o'clock,  just  before  daylight,  Coupeau  at 
length  awoke.  When  he  learnt  his  loss  he  at  first  stood 
still  with  dry  eyes,  stuttering,  and  vaguely  thinking  that  they 
were  playing  some  joke  on  him.  Then,  he  threw  himself  on 
the  floor  beside  the  corpse ;  he  kissed  it  and  wept  like  a  calf, 
with  such  a  copious  flow  of  tears  that  in  wiping  his  cheeks 
he  quite  wetted  the  sheet.  Gervaise,  on  her  side,  had  begun 
to  sob  again,  deeply  affected  by  her  husband's  grief,  and  once 
more  good  friends  with  him ;  yes,  he  was  better  at  heart 
than  she  had  thought  he  was.  However,  a  violent  headache 
was  mingled  with  Coupeau' s  grief.  He  passed  his  fingers 
through  his  hair ;  his  mouth  was  dry,  as  was  always  the  case 
on  the  morrow  of  a  carouse ;  and  he  was  still  a  little  *  on  *  in 
spite  of  the  ten  hours'  sleep  that  he  had  taken.  And, 
clinching  his  fists,  he  complained  aloud.  Dash  it !  she  was 
gone  now,  his  poor  mother  whom  he  loved  so  much  !  Ah ! 
what  a  headache  he  had,  that  would  settle  him !  It  was  as 
though  he  had  a  wig  of  fire  on  his  skull,  and  at  the  same 
time  they  were  tearing  out  his  heart  1  Ah!  it  was  not  •just 
of  fate  to  set  itself  against  a  man  like  that ! 

'  Come,  cheer  up,  old  fellow,'  said  Lantier,  raising  him 
from  the  floor ;  *  you  must  pull  yourself  together.' 

He  poured  him  out  a  glass  of  wine,  but  Coupeau  refused  to 
drink. 

'  What's  the  matter  with  me  ?  I've  copper  in  my  throat. 
It's  all  through  mamma ;  directly  I  saw  her  I  got  a  taste  of 
copper  in  my  mouth.     Mamma,  my  God  I  mamma,  mamma  I ' 

Then  he  again  began  to  cry  like  a  child.  All  the  same, 
he  drank  the  glass  of  wine  just  to  put  out  the  fire  which  was 
burning  his  chest.  Lantier  soon  went  off  on  the  pretext  of 
informing  the  other  members  of  the  family  and  of  registering 
the  death  at  the  town  hall.    He  felt  a  need  of  some  fresh  air 


DOWN  HILL  277 

And  so  he  did  not  hurry,  but  strolled  along  smoking  cigarettes 
and  enjoying  the  sharp  cold  of  the  morning.  On  leaving 
Madame  Lerat's,  he  entered  a  Batignolles  cremerie,  and 
drank  a  good  cup  of  hot  coffee.  And  he  stayed  there  quite 
an  hour  wrapt  in  thought. 

However,  towards  nine  o'clock  the  family  was  assembled 
in  the  shop,  the  shutters  of  which  were  kept  up.  Lorilleux 
did  not  cry  ;  moreover,  he  had  some  pressing  work  to  attend 
to,  so  after  stalking  about  for  a  short  time  with  a  face 
assumed  for  the  occasion,  he  returned  to  his  own  rooms. 
Madame  Lorilleux  and  Madame  Lerat  meantime  embraced 
the  Coupeaus  and  wiped  their  eyes,  from  which  a  few  tears 
were  falling.  But  the  first  named,  after  glancing  hastily 
round  the  body,  raised  her  voice  to  say  that  it  was  unheard 
of,  that  one  never  left  a  lighted  lamp  beside  a  corpse.  There 
ought  to  be  some  candles,  and  so  Nana  was  sent  to  purchase 
a  packet  of  tall  ones.  Ah  well !  it  was  hardly  the  thing  to 
die  at  the  Hobbler's,  she  laid  one  out  in  such  a  funny  fashion  ! 
What  a  fool,  not  even  to  know  how  she  ought  to  behave  with 
a  corpse  !  Had  she  never  buried  any  one  in  her  life  then  ? 
Madame  Lerat  had  to  go  to  some  neighbours  to  borrow  a 
crucifix,  and  came  back  with  one  which  was  much  too  big,  a 
cross  of  blackened  wood  with  a  cardboard  Christ  fastened  to 
it,  which  quite  covered  Mother  Coupeau's  chest,  and  seemed 
to  crush  her  with  its  weight.  Then  they  tried  to  obtain  some 
holy  water,  but  no  one  had  any,  and  it  was  again  Nana  who 
was  sent  to  the  church  to  fetch  some  in  a  bottle.  Then  in  a 
jiffy  quite  another  appearance  was  given  to  the  little  room  ;  a 
candle  burnt  on  a  little  table,  beside  a  glass  full  of  holy  water, 
into  which  a  sprig  of  box  was  dipped.  And  now,  if  anyone 
should  come,  the  place  would  at  least  look  decent.  And  they 
arranged  the  chairs  in  a  semicircle  in  the  shop  for  receiving 
people. 

Lantier  only  came  back  at  eleven  o'clock.  He  had  been 
to  the  Office  of  the  Burial  Service  for  information.^ 

*  The  coffin  costs  twelve  francs,'  said  he.  *  If  you  desire 
a  mass,  that  will  be  ten  francs  more.  Then  there's  the 
hearse,  which  is  charged  for  according  to  the  ornaments.' 

*  Oh  I  that's  quite  unnecessary,'  murmured  Madame 
Lorilleux,  raising  her  head  with  surprise  and  anxiety.     *  We 

*  There  are  no  private  undertakers  in  Paris.  A  special  municipal 
service  manages  all  funerals  at  fixed  rates. 


278  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

can't  bring  mamma  to  life  again,  can  we?  One  must  do 
things  according  to  one's  means.* 

'  Of  course,  that's  just  what  I  think,'  resumed  the  hatter. 

*  I  merely  asked  the  prices  to  guide  you.  Tell  me  what  you 
desire,  and  after  lunch  I'll  give  the  orders.' 

They  talked  in  low  tones,  in  the  dim  light  which  filtered 
mto  the  shop  through  the  cracks  in  the  shutters.  The  door 
of  the  little  room  remained  wide  open  ;  and  from  that  gaping 
aperture  came  the  great  stillness  of  death.  Children's 
laughter  arose  in  the  courtyard,  however,  for  a  troop  of 
urchins  were  dancing  in  a  ring  in  the  pale  winter  sunshine. 
And  all  of  a  sudden,  one  heard  Nana,  who  had  escaped  from 
the  Boches',  whither  she  had  been  sent.  She  gave  her 
commands  in  a  shrill  voice,  and  the  children's  heels  beat  time 
on  the  paving-stones,  whilst  these  words  were  sung  and  flew 
away  in  the  air  like  the  noise  of  some  chattering  birds : 

*  Our  donkey,  our  donkey, 
His  leg's  so  very  bad, 
That  Madame's  had  him  made 
A  pretty  little  sock, 
And  lilac-coloured  shoe,  shoe,  shoes, 
And  lilac-coloured  shoes  ! ' 

Gervaise  waited  till  the  verse  was  sung  to  say  in  her  turn : 

*  We're  not  rich,  certainly  ;  but  all  the  same  we  wish  to  act 
decently.  Even  if  Mother  Coupeau  has  left  us  nothing,  that's 
no  reason  for  pitching  her  into  the  ground  like  a  dog,  is  it  ? 
No,  we  must  have  a  mass,  and  a  hearse  with  a  few  orna- 
ments.' 

*  And  who  will  pay  for  them  ?  '  shouted  Madame  Lorilleux. 
'  Not  we,  who  lost  money  last  week  ;  nor  you  either,  as  you're 
stumped.  Ah  !  you  surely  ought  to  realise  to  what  point  all 
your  trying  to  flabbergast  people  has  brought  you  ! ' 

Coupeau,  on  being  consulted,  mumbled  something  with  a 
gesture  of  profound  indifference,  and  then  again  fell  asleep  on 
his  chair.  Madame  Lerat,  however,  said  that  she  would  pay 
her  share.  She  was  of  Gervaise's  opinion,  they  ought  to  do 
things  decently.  Then,  the  two  of  them  fell  to  making 
calculations  on  a  piece  of  paper ;  in  all,  it  would  amount  to 
about  ninety  francs,  because,  after  a  long  discussion,  they 
decided  to  have  a  hearse  ornamented  with  a  narrow  scallop- 
ing with  white  cotton  fringe. 

'We're  three,'  concluded  the  laundress.  *  We'll  %vj^ 
thirty  francs  a-piece.    It  won't  ruin  us.' 


DOWNHILL  279 

But  Madame  Lorilleux  burst  forth  infuriated :  *  Well  1  I 
refuse,  yes,  I  refuse  I  It's  not  for  the  thirty  francs.  I'd  give 
a  hundred  thousand,  if  I  had  them,  and  they  could  bring 
mamma  to  life  again.  Only,  I  don't  like  stuck-up  people. 
You've  got  a  shop,  you  only  dream  of  showing  off  before  the 
neighbours.  But  that's  no  concern  of  ours.  We  don't  try 
to  make  ourselves  out  what  we  are  not.  Oh  I  you  can  manage 
things  as  you  please.  Put  plumes  on  the  hearse  if  it  amuses 
you.' 

*  No  one  asks  you  for  anything,*  Gervaise  ended  by 
answering.  *  Even  though  I  should  have  to  sell  myself,  I'll 
not  have  any  cause  for  self-reproach.  I've  fed  Mother  Coupeau 
without  your  help,  and  I  can  certainly  bury  her  without  your 
help  either.  I  gave  you  a  bit  of  my  mind  once  before  :  I  pick 
up  stray  cats,  so  I'm  not  likely  to  leave  your  mother  in  the 
mire.' 

Then  Madame  Lorilleux  burst  into  tears,  and  Lantier  had 
to  prevent  her  from  leaving.  The  quarrel  had  become  so 
noisy,  that  Madame  Lerat  interposed  with  an  energetic 
'  Hush !  hush  I  '  and  thought  it  her  duty  to  go  softly  into  the 
little  room  and  give  an  annoyed  and  anxious  glance  at  the 
dead  woman,  as  though  she  feared  she  might  find  her  alive 
and  awake,  and  listening  to  the  discussion  going  on  so  near 
her.  At  that  moment  the  troop  of  little  girls  in  the  courtyard 
again  broke  into  song,  Nana's  piercing  voice  being  heard  high 
above  the  others : 

*  Our  donkey,  our  donkey, 

Has  got  a  stomach-ache. 

So  Madame's  had  him  made 

A  nice  little  waist-band. 

And  lilac-coloured  shoe,  shoe,  shoes, 

And  lilac-coloured  shoes  I ' 

*  Dear  me  !  how  those  children  grate  on  one's  nerves  with 
their  singing  1 '  said  Gervaise  to  the  hatter.  She  seemed 
quite  upset,  and  on  the  point  of  sobbing  with  impatience  and 
sadness.  '  Do  please  make  them  leave  off,  and  send  Nana 
back  to  the  doorkeeper's  with  a  kick.' 

Then  Madame  Lerat  and  Madame  Lorilleux  went  away  to 
have  their  lunch,  but  promised  to  return.  The  Coupeaus  sat 
down  to  table,  and  ate  some  ham,  though  they  had  no  appetite, 
and  were  fearful  of  clattering  their  forks  against  their  plates. 
They  were  very  much  bothered  and  bewildered  with  poor 
Mother  Coupeau,  whose  corpse  seemed  to  weigh  on  their 


28o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

shoulders,  and  fill  every  room.  Their  life  seemed  turned 
topsy-turvy.  At  first  they  wandered  about  unable  to  find 
things  ;  and  they  felt  as  stiff  as  on  the  morrow  of  a  jollification. 
Lantier,  however,  soon  made  for  the  door  to  go  back  to  the 
Burial  Office,  with  Madame  Lerat's  thirty  francs  and  sixty 
francs  which  Gervaise,  bareheaded  and  excited  like  a  mad- 
woman, had  gone  to  borrow  of  Goujet.  In  the  afternoon 
some  visitors  called,  neighbours  devoured  by  curiosity,  who 
arrived  sighing  and  rolling  doleful  eyes.  They  entered  the 
little  room  and  stared  at  the  defunct,  making  a  sign  of  the 
cross  and  shaking  the  sprig  of  box  dipped  in  holy  water  over 
the  body.  Then  they  sat  down  in  the  shop,  where  they  went 
on  talking  interminably  of  the  poor  dear  woman,  never  tiring 
of  repeating  the  same  phrase  for  hours  together.  Mademoiselle 
Eemanjou  had  noticed  that  the  defunct's  right  eye  had 
remained  open ;  Madame  Gaudron  obstinately  kept  on  say- 
ing that  she  thought  she  had  a  beautiful  colour  for  her  age  ; 
and  Madame  Fauconnier  was  stupefied  by  the  recollection 
that  she  had  seen  her  drinking  coffee  only  three  days  previously. 
Eeally  now,  one  went  off  precious  quick  ;  they  had  better  all 
make  their  preparations. 

Towards  evening  the  Coupeaus  began  to  have  enough  of 
it.  It  was  too  great  an  affliction  for  a  family  to  have  to  keep 
a  corpse  at  home  so  long.  The  Government  ought  to  have 
made  a  new  law  on  the  matter.  What  I  they  were  to  spend 
the  whole  of  another  evening,  another  night  and  another 
morning,  like  that !  Surely  it  would  never  come  to  an  end. 
When  one  has  finished  weeping,  grief  turns  to  irritation  ;  does 
it  not  ?  And  there  is  a  risk  that  one  may  end  by  behaving 
with  impropriety.  Mother  Coupeau,  though  dumb  and  stiff 
in  the  rear  of  the  little  room,  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole 
lodging  yet  more  and  more,  becoming  heavy  enough  to  crush 
its  occupants.  And  the  family,  in  spite  of  itself,  gradually 
relapsed  into  its  ordinary  courses,  losing  some  part  of  its 
respect  for  death. 

*  You  must  have  a  bite  with  us,*  said  Gervaise  to  Madame 
Lerat  and  Madame  Lorilleux,  when  they  returned  towards  the 
evening.     '  We're  too  sad ;  we  must  keep  together.' 

They  laid  the  cloth  on  the  work-table  and  each,  on  seeing 
the  plates,  thought  of  the  junketings  they  had  indulged  in 
there.  Lantier  had  now  returned,  and  Lorilleux  once  more 
came  down.  A  pastry-cook  had  just  brought  a  meat  pie,  for 
the  laundress  was  too  upset  to  attend  to  any  cooking.    How- 


DOWN  HILL  281 

ever,  just  as  they  were  taking  their  seats,  Boche  came  in  to 
say  that  M.  Marescot  asked  to  be  admitted,  and  forthwith  the 
landlord  appeared,  looking  very  grave,  with  the  broad  bow  of 
his  decoratica  in  the  top  buttonhole  of  his  frock-coat.  He 
bowed  in  silence,  ajid  went  straight  to  the  little  room,  where 
he  knelt  down.  He  was  very  devout ;  he  prayed  in  the 
solemn  manner  of  a  priest,  then  made  a  sign  of  the  cross  in 
the  air,  and  sprinkled  the  corpse  with  the  sprig  of  box.  The 
whole  family  had  left  the  table,  and  stood  up  greatly  impressed. 
Having  finished  his  devotions,  M.  Marescot  returned  to  the 
shop  and  said  to  the  Coupeaus  :  '  I  have  called  for  the  two 
quarters'  rent  that's  overdue.     Are  you  prepared  to  pay  ?  * 

*  No,  sir,  not  quite,'  stammered  Gervaise,  greatly  put  out  at 
hearing  this  mentioned  before  the  Lorilleux.  *  You  see,  with 
the  misfortune  which  has  fallen  upon  us * 

*  No  doubt,  but  every  one  has  his  troubles,'  resumed  the 
landlord,  spreading  out  the  big  fingers  with  which  he  had  once 
toiled.  '  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  can  wait  no  longer.  If  I  am 
not  paid  by  the  morning  after  to-morrow,  I  shall  be  obUged 
to  have  you  put  out.* 

Gervaise,  whose  eyes  filled  with  tears,  clasped  her  hands 
in  mute  entreaty.  But  with  an  energetic  shake  of  his  big  bony 
head,  he  gave  her  to  understand  that  all  supplications  were 
useless.  Besides,  the  respect  due  to  the  dead  forbade  all  dis- 
cussion. He  discreetly  retired,  walking  backwards.  '  A 
thousand  apologies  for  having  disturbed  you,'  he  murmured. 
*  The  morning  after  to-morrow ;  do  not  forget.' 

And  as,  in  withdrawing,  he  again  passed  the  little  room, 
he  saluted  the  corpse  a  last  time  through  the  open  doorway 
by  devoutly  bending  his  knee. 

The  family  commenced  by  eating  quickly,  so  that  it  might 
not  seem  that  they  took  any  pleasure  in  feeding.  But  on 
reaching  the  dessert,  they  lingered  over  it,  overcome  by  a 
desire  to  enjoy  their  ease.  Now  and  again  Gervaise,  or  one 
of  Coupeau's  sisters,  went  to  peep  into  the  little  room,  with 
her  mouth  full,  and  without  even  laying  down  her  napkin ; 
and  when  she  returned  to  her  seat,  finishing  what  she  was 
eating,  the  others  just  glanced  at  her  to  ascertain  if  everything 
was  going  on  all  right  close  by.  But  afterwards  the  ladies 
disturbed  themselves  less  frequently  ;  Mother  Coupeau  was 
forgotten.  They  had  made  a  pailful  of  coffee,  and  very 
strong  too,  so  as  to  keep  themselves  awake  all  night.  The 
Poissons  looked  in  towards  eight  o'clock,  and  were  invited  to 


a83  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

take  a  glass.  Then  Lantier,  who  had  been  watching  Gervaise's 
face,  profited  by  an  opportunity  for  which  he  had  been  waiting 
ever  since  the  morning.  Speaking  of  the  indecency  of  land- 
lords who  forced  their  way  into  houses  where  there  was  a 
corpse,  to  demand  money,  he  suddenly  exclaimed :  '  He's  a 
Jesuit,  that  brute  is,  with  his  air  of  officiating  at  mass  I  But, 
in  your  place,  I'd  just  chuck  up  his  shop  altogether.' 

Gervaise,  quite  worn  out,  weak  and  nerveless,  gave  way 
and  replied :  *  Yes,  I  certainly  sha'n't  wait  for  the  bailiffs. 
I'm  sick  and  tired  of  it  all,  sick  and  tired  of  it.' 

The  Lorilleux,  delighted  at  the  idea  that  the  Hobbler 
would  no  longer  have  a  shop,  approved  the  plan  immensely. 
People  could  hardly  imagine  how  great  was  the  cost  of  a  shop. 
If  she  only  earned  three  francs  a  day  in  working  for  others, 
she  would  at  least  have  no  expenses,  and  would  not  risk  losing 
large  sums  of  money.  They  repeated  this  argument  to  Coupeau, 
urging  him  on.  He  was  drinking  a  great  deal,  overcome  by 
an  endless  fit  of  sensibility,  and  weeping  all  by  himself  in  his 
plate.  Then,  as  the  laundress  seemed  on  the  point  of  being 
convinced,  Lantier  looked  at  thePoissons  and  winked.  Forth- 
with Virginie  intervened,  making  herself  as  amiable  as  she 
could. 

'  We  might  arrange  the  matter  between  us,*  said  she.  *  I 
would  relieve  you  of  the  rest  of  the  lease,  and  settle  your 
matter  with  the  landlord.  In  short,  you  would  at  all  events 
be  more  at  ease.' 

*  No,  thanks,'  declared  Gervaise,  shaking  herself,  as  though 
she  felt  a  shudder  passing  through  her.  *  I  know  how  to 
find  the  rent  I  owe,  if  I  like.  I'll  work  ;  I've  my  arms,  thank 
heaven  I  to  help  me  out  of  my  difficulties.' 

'  "We  can  talk  it  over  some  other  time,'  hastily  interposed 
the  hatter.  *  It's  not  the  thing  to  do  this  evening.  Some 
other  time — to-morrow,  for  instance.* 

Just  at  that  moment,  Madame  Lerat,  who  had  gone  into 
the  little  room,  raised  a  faint  cry  of  fright,  for  she  had  found 
the  candle  burnt  out.  They  all  busied  themselves  in  lighting 
another ;  and  shook  their  heads,  saying  that  it  was  not  a  good 
sign  when  a  light  went  out  beside  a  corpse. 

The  wake  commenced.  Coupeau  had  gone  to  lie  down, 
not  to  sleep,  said  he,  but  to  think ;  however,  five  minutes 
afterwards  he  was  snoring.  When  Nana  was  sent  off  to  sleep 
at  the  Boches*,  she  began  to  cry  ;  for  ever  since  the  morning 
she  had  been  looking  forward  to  a  nice  cosy  snooze  in  her 


DOWN  HILL  283 

good  friend  Lantier'a  big  bed.  The  Poissons  stayed  till  mid- 
night. Some  hot  wine  was  made  in  a  salad-bowl,  because 
the  coffee  affected  the  ladies'  nerves.  Then  the  conversation 
became  affectionately  effusive.  Virginie  talked  of  the  country ; 
she  wished  to  be  buried  at  the  verge  of  a  wood,  and  to  have 
wild  flowers  growing  on  her  grave.  Next,  Madame  Lerat 
declared  that  she  had  already  put  by  the  sheet  which  was  to 
serve  as  her  shroud,  and  kept  it  in  her  wardrobe,  perfumed 
with  a  bunch  of  lavender  ;  for  she  wished  to  have  a  nice  smell 
near  her  nose  when  the  time  came  for  her  to  eat  dandelions 
by  the  roots.  Then,  without  any  transition,  the  policeman 
related  that  he  had  arrested  a  fine  strapping  girl  that  morning 
who  had  been  stealing  from  a  pork-butcher's  shop  ;  the  female 
searcher  at  the  station-house  had  found  ten  big  sausages 
hanging  round  her.  At  this  the  party  burst  out  into  a  soft 
laugh,  and  the  wake  became  livelier,  though  appearances  were 
still  kept  up. 

When  the  Poissons  at  length  withdrew,  Lantier  also  went 
off.  He  was  going  to  sleep  at  a  friend's,  said  he,  so  as  to 
leave  his  bed  for  the  ladies,  who  might  rest  upon  it  each  in 
turn.  Lorilleux,  on  his  side,  went  up  to  bed  alone,  repeating 
that  such  a  thing  had  never  happened  to  him  since  his 
marriage.  Then,  Gervaise  and  the  two  sisters,  left  with  the 
sleeping  Coupeau,  settled  themselves  round  the  stove,  on 
which  some  coffee  was  kept  warm.  Conversing  in  undertones, 
amid  the  deep  silence  which  had  now  fallen  on  the  neighbour- 
hood, they  sat  there,  huddled  together,  bending  low,  with  their 
hands  under  their  aprons,  and  their  noses  over  the  fire. 
Madame  Lorilleux  lamented  that  she  had  no  black  dress,  and 
would  much  have  liked  to  avoid  having  to  purchase  one,  for 
they  were  very  hard  up,  very  hard  up,  indeed ;  and  she 
questioned  Gervaise,  asking  her  if  Mother  Coupeau  had  not 
left  a  black  skirt  behind  her,  a  skirt  which  had  been  given  her 
on  her  saint's  day.  Gervaise  was  obhged  to  fetch  the  skirt, 
and  it  was  found  it  would  do  if  it  were  taken  in  a  little  at  the 
waist.  But  Madame  Lorilleux  also  wanted  some  old  linen, 
talked  of  the  bed,  the  wardrobe,  and  the  two  chairs,  and 
looked  about  for  any  odds  and  ends  which  might  be  divided. 
There  was  almost  a  quarrel ;  but  Madame  Lerat  made  peace ; 
she  was  more  just ;  the  Coupeaus  had  taken  care  of  the 
mother,  and  had  well  earned  the  few  things  that  she  had  left. 
Then  all  three  again  half  dozed  away  over  the  stove,  while 
gossiping  monotonously. 


284  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

The  night  seemed  terribly  long  to  them.  Now  and  again 
they  shook  themselves,  drank  some  coffee,  and  turned  their 
heads  in  the  direction  of  the  little  room,  where  the  candle, 
which  it  was  not  allowable  to  snuff,  burnt  with  a  dull  red  flame, 
swollen  by  the  carbonised  '  thieves  *  on  the  wick.  Towards 
morning  they  began  to  shiver,  in  spite  of  the  great  heat  of 
the  stove.  They  were  weary  with  having  talked  too  much,  a 
kind  of  oppression  stifled  them,  their  mouths  were  parched, 
and  their  eyes  ached.  Then  Madame  Lerat  threw  herself 
on  Lantier's  bed,  and  snored  like  a  man  ;  whilst  the  other 
two,  with  their  heads  falling  forward,  and  almost  touching 
their  knees,  slept  on  before  the  fire.  At  daybreak  they  awoke 
shuddering,  and  found  that  Mother  Coupeau's  candle  had 
again  gone  out. 

The  funeral  was  to  take  place  at  half -past  ten.  A  nice 
morning  to  add  to  the  night  and  the  previous  day  I  That  is  to 
say,  Gervaise,  though  she  was  penniless,  would  have  given  a 
hundred  francs  to  anybody  who  would  have  come  and  taken 
Mother  Coupeau  away  three  hours  sooner.  Ah  1  one  may  love 
people,  no  doubt,  but  they  weigh  on  one  too  heavily  when  they 
are  dead  ;  and  indeed  the  more  one  has  loved  them,  the  sooner 
would  one  like  to  be  rid  of  their  bodies. 

Fortunately,  the  morning  of  a  funeral  is  a  busy  one. 
There  are  all  sorts  of  preparations  to  be  made.  To  begin 
with,  they  breakfasted.  Then,  as  it  happened,  it  was  old 
Bazouge,  the  mute,  living  on  the  sixth  floor  of  the  house, 
who  brought  the  coffin  and  the  sack  of  bran.  He  was  never 
sober,  the  worthy  fellow ;  and  at  eight  o'clock  that  morning,  he 
was  still  lively  from  his  booze  of  the  day  before.  *  This  is  for 
here,  isn't  it  ?  '  asked  he,  as  he  set  down  the  coffin,  which 
creaked  like  a  new  box.  But  he  was  just  throwing  the  sack 
of  bran  beside  it  when  he  perceived  Gervaise,  and  stopped 
short  with  wondering  eyes  and  gaping  mouth :  *  Beg  pardon, 
excuse  me.  I've  made  a  mistake,'  he  stammered.  *  I  was 
told  it  was  for  here.' 

He  had  already  taken  up  the  sack  again,  and  the  laun- 
dress was  obliged  to  call  to  him  :  *  Leave  it  alone,  it's  for  here 
right  enough.' 

*  Ah  !  thunder  !  let's  understand  each  other  I '  resumed  the 
mute,  slapping  his  thigh.     *  Oh  1  I  see,  it's  the  old  lady,  eh  ?  * 

Gervaise  turned  quite  white.  Old  Bazouge  had  brought 
the  coffin,  thinking  it  was  for  her.  By  way  of  apology,  he 
tried  to  be  gallant,  and  continued  :  *  I'm  not  to  blame,  am  I  ? 


DOWN  HILL  285 

It  was  said  yesterday  that  somebody  on  the  ground  floor 
had  gone  off.  So  I  thought — but— you  know,  in  our  line, 
these  things  come  in  by  one  ear  and  go  out  by  the  other.  All 
the  same,  allow  me  to  congratulate  you.  As  late  as  possible, 
eh  ?  That's  best,  isn't  it,  though  life  isn't  always  amusing ; 
ah  !  no,  by  Jove  ! ' 

She  listened  to  him  and  drew  back,  with  a  childish  fear 
lest  he  should  grasp  her  with  his  big  dirty  hands,  and  carry 
her  away  in  his  box.  Once  already,  on  her  wedding  night,  he 
had  told  her  that  he  knew  women  who  would  thank  him  if 
he'd  only  call  to  take  them  away.  Well,  she  hadn't  yet  got 
to  that  point ;  and  the  idea  gave  her  a  chill  down  the  back. 
Her  life  was  spoilt,  no  doubt ;  but  she  had  no  wish  to  go 
off  so  soon.  Oh,  she  would  rather  die  slowly  of  hunger 
during  years  and  years  than  depart  to  kingdom  come  all  at 
once,  in  one  brief  second. 

*  He's  drunk,'  she  murmured,  with  an  air  of  disgust 
mingled  with  dread.  *  They,  at  least,  oughtn't  to  send  us 
tipplers.     We  pay  dear  enough.' 

Then  the  mute  became  insolent,  and  jeered :  *  Oh  I  it's 
only  put  off  till  another  time,  my  little  woman.  I'm  quite  at 
your  service,  remember  1  You've  only  to  make  me  a  sign. 
I'm  the  ladies'  consoler.  And  don't  turn  up  your  nose  at  old 
Bazouge,  for  he's  held  in  his  arms  far  finer  ones  than  you, 
who  let  themselves  be  tucked  in  without  a  murmur,  very 
pleased  indeed  to  continue  their  by-by  in  the  dark.' 

*  Hold  your  tongue,  Bazouge,'  peremptorily  exclaimed 
Lorilleux,  who  had  hastened  to  the  spot  on  hearing  the  noise, 
*  such  jokes  are  highly  improper.  If  we  complained  about 
you,  you'd  get  dismissed.  Come,  be  off,  as  you've  no  respect 
for  principles.' 

The  mute  went  off,  but  for  some  time  one  could  hear  him 
stuttering  on  the  pavement :  'What  ?  principles,  eh?  There's 
no  such  thing  as  principles — there's  only  honesty !  * 

At  length  ten  o'clock  struck.  The  hearse  was  late. 
Several  people,  friends  and  neighbours — M.  Madinier,  My- 
Boots,  Madame  Gaudron,  Mademoiselle  Kemanjou — were 
already  assembled  in  the  shop — and  every  minute  a  man's  or  a 
woman's  head  was  thrust  out  of  the  doorway,  gaping  between 
the  closed  shutters,  to  see  if  that  creeping  hearse  were  in 
sight.  The  family,  assembled  in  the  back  room,  shook  hands 
with  each  new  arrival.  Short  pauses  occurred,  followed  by 
rapid  whisperings;    there  was   tiresome,   feverish  waiting, 


286  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

interspersed  with  sudden  rushes  of  skirts,  as  when  Madame 
Lorilleux  found  that  she  had  forgotten  her  handkerchief,  and 
Madame  Lerat  wanted  to  borrow  a  prayer-book.  Everyone 
on  arriving  could  see  the  open  coffin  standing  alongside  the 
bed  in  the  centre  of  the  httle  room  ;  and  despite  themselves, 
the  visitors  stood  covertly  studying  it,  calculating  that  plump 
Mother  Coupeau  would  never  squeeze  into  a  box  of  that  size. 
They  looked  at  each  other  with  this  thought  apparent  in 
their  eyes,  though  they  did  not  give  utterance  to  it.  But,  all 
at  once,  there  was  some  pushing  at  the  street  door ;  and  M. 
Madinier,  extending  his  arms,  came  and  said,  in  a  low,  grave 
voice :  *  Here  they  are  1 ' 

It  was  not  the  hearse,  however.  Four  mutes  entered 
hastily  in  single  file,  with  red  faces  and  slow,  heavy  hands, 
like  those  of  men  employed  by  contractors  for  removals. 
Their  rusty  black  clothes  were  worn  and  whitened  by  con- 
stant rubbing  against  coffins.  Old  Bazouge  walked  first,  very 
drunk  but  dignified.  As  soon  as  he  got  to  work  he  recovered 
his  equilibrium.  Neither  he  nor  the  others  spoke  a  word ; 
with  their  heads  slightly  bowed,  they  glanced  at  Mother 
Coupeau,  mentally  weighing  her.  And  they  did  not  dawdle ; 
the  poor  old  woman  was  packed  away  in  no  more  time  than 
one  takes  to  sneeze.  The  shortest  of  the  men,  a  young 
chap  who  squinted,  poured  the  bran  into  the  coffin,  and 
spread  it  out,  kneading  it  as  though  he  meant  to  make  some 
bread.  Another  mute,  a  tall  lean  fellow,  with  a  jocular  look, 
next  laid  the  sheet  over  the  bran.  Then  one,  two,  off  you 
go  1  The  four  of  them  caught  hold  of  the  body  and  hfted  it 
up,  two  at  the  feet  and  two  at  the  head.  Nobody  could  toss 
a  pancake  with  more  speed.  The  onlookers,  who  were 
stretching  their  necks,  might  have  thought  that  Mother 
Coupeau  had  jumped  into  the  box  herself,  for  she  glided  into 
it  as  though  she  were  at  home.  And  it  was  a  perfect  fit,  so 
perfect  that  one  heard  her  bones  brush  against  the  new  wood. 
She  touched  the  wood  on  all  sides ;  she  looked  like  a  picture  in 
a  frame.  And  the  fact  that  she  had  been  got  into  the  coffin 
greatly  surprised  the  beholders,  who  opined  that  she  had 
surely  diminished  in  bulk  since  the  previous  night. 

The  mutes,  however,  had  drawn  themselves  erect,  and 
remained  waiting ;  the  little  one  with  a  squint  took  up  the 
coffin  lid  by  way  of  inviting  the  family  to  bid  their  last 
farewell,  whilst  Bazouge  filled  his  mouth  with  nails  and  held 
the  hammer  in  readiness.    Then  Coupeau,  his  sisters,  and 


DOWN  HILL  287 

Gervaise  threw  themselves  on  their  knees  and,  weeping 
bitterly,  kissed  the  poor  old  mamma  who  was  leaving  them. 
Their  hot  tears  rained  and  coursed  over  the  stiff  and  icy  face. 
There  was  a  prolonged  sound  of  sobbing.  But  the  lid  came 
down,  and  old  Bazouge  knocked  in  the  nails  in  the  neat 
style  of  a  professional  packer,  two  blows  sufficing  for  each. 

And  amidst  that  din  which  suggested  the  repairing  of  old 
furniture,  the  others  no  longer  sought  to  listen  to  their  own 
weeping.  Everything  was  finished.  The  time  for  starting 
had  arrived. 

'  What  an  idea  to  try  to  cut  a  dash  at  such  a  time  ! '  said 
Madame  Lorilleux  to  her  husband,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the 
hearse  before  the  door. 

The  hearse  was  quite  revolutionising  the  neighbourhood. 
The  tripe-seller  called  to  the  grocer's  men,  the  Uttle  clockmaker 
stepped  on  to  the  pavement,  the  neighbours  leant  out  of  their 
windows ;  and  each  and  all  talked  about  the  scalloping  with 
the  white  cotton  fringe.  Ah  1  the  Coupeaus  would  have  done 
better  to  have  paid  their  debts.  But,  as  the  Lorilleux  said, 
when  a  person's  proud  it  shows  itself  everywhere  and  in  spite 
of  everything. 

*  It's  shameful  I '  repeated  Gervaise  at  the  same  moment, 
speaking  of  the  chain-maker  and  his  wife.  '  To  think  that 
those  skinflints  haven't  even  brought  a  bunch  of  violets  for 
their  mother  I ' 

The  Lorilleux,  true  enough,  had  come  empty-handed. 
Madame  Lerat  had  given  a  wreath  of  artificial  flowers.  And 
another  of  immortelles  and  a  bouquet,  both  purchased  by  the 
Coupeaus,  were  also  placed  on  the  bier.  The  mutes  required  all 
their  strength  to  raise  the  coffin  and  get  it  into  the  hearse. 
Then  the  procession  was  slowly  formed.  Coupeau  and 
Lorilleux,  frock- coated  and  hat  in  hand,  were  chief  mourners  ; 
the  first,  in  his  emotion  which  two  glasses  of  white  wine  taken 
early  in  the  morning  had  helped  to  sustain,  clung  to  his 
brother-in-law's  arm,  with  sinking  legs  and  splitting  head. 
Then  followed  the  other  men  :  M.  Madinier,  very  grave  and 
all  in  black,  My-Boots,  with  a  great  coat  over  his  blouse, 
Boche,  whose  incongruous  yellow  trousers  quite  startled  one, 
Lantier,  Gaudron,  Bibi-the- Smoker,  Poisson,  and  others 
besides.  The  ladies  came  next ;  in  the  first  row  were  Madame 
Lorilleux,  wearing  the  deceased's  skirt,  which  she  had  altered, 
and  Madame  Lerat  who  hid  her  improvised  mourning,  a  gown 
with  lilac  trimmings,  beneath  a  shawl ;  and  afterwards  came 


2»«  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Virginie,  Madame  Gaudron,  Madame  Fauconnier,  Made- 
moiselle  Eemanjou,  and  the  rest.  When  the  hearse  started 
ofl  slowly  descendmg  the  Hue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  while  the 
bystanders  made  signs  of  the  cross  or  bared  their  heads,  the 
four  mutes  took  the  lead,  two  in  front  and  the  others  on  the 
right  and  left.  Gervaise  had  remained  behind  to  close  the 
shop,  but  after  confiding  Nana  to  Madame  Boche,  she  ran  off 
^}fl  .1  procession,  whilst  the  child,  whom  the  doorkeeper 
held  by  the  hand  under  the  porch,  watched  with  deep  interest 
her  grandmother  disappear,  in  that  beautiful  carriage,  round 
the  street  corner.  ^  '  ^^uuu 

Just  as  the  laundress,  all  out  of  breath,  reached  the  tail 
end  of  the  procession,  Goujet  also  joined  it.    He  took  his 
place  among  the  men  ;  but  looked  back  and  nodded  to  her  so 
gently  that  she  suddenly  felt  very  wretched,  and  again  burst 
into  tears,     bhe  was  no  longer  weeping  for  Mother  Coupeau 
alone ;  she  was  bewailing  something  abominable,  which  she 
could  not  have  expressed  in  words,  but  which  was  stifling  her. 
bhe   kept    her    handkerchief    to  her  eyes  the   whole   way. 
Madame  LoriUeux,  whose  cheeks  were  dry  and  red,  looked  at 
alHor  slTow'  ^'^^  ^^  ^'^  ^^  suggesting  that  she  was  doing  it 
The  ceremony  at  the  church  was  soon  got  through,  though 
the  mass  dragged  a  little,  as  the  priest  was  very  old.    My-Boots 
and  Bibi-the-Smoker  preferred  to  remain  outside,  on  account 
of  the  collection.^    M.  Madinier  for  his  part  studied  the  priests, 
and  imparted  his  observations  to  Lantier.    '  Those  fokers ' 
said  he  'ghb  as  they  were  with  their  Latin,  didn't  know  'a 
word  of^  what   they  were   saying;  they  conducted   a  burial 
service  ]ust   as  they  would  have   conducted   a  baptism  or 
?T^^7f  5?®.'  ^ij^out  the  least  feehng  in  their  hearts.'     Then, 
M.   Madinier  blamed  all    such   ceremonies,   lights,    doleful 
prayers,  and  pompous  display  before  bereaved  families.     One 
really  lost  one's  relatives  twice  over,  first  at  home  and  then 
at  church.     And  all  the  men  agreed  with  him  ;  for  another 
pamlul  moment   came  after  the  mass,   when  there  was  a 
mumbling  of  prayers,   and   everybody  present   had   to  pass 
before  the  coffin  and  sprinkle  it  with  holy  water. 

Happily,  the  cemetery  was  not  far  off ;  it  was  the  little 
cemetery  of  La  Chapelle,  a  bit  of  garden-like  ground  reached 
by  the  Eue  Marcadet.  The  mourners  arrived  disbanded, 
stamping  their  feet  and  talking  of  their  own  affairs.  The  hard 
earth  resounded  beneath  their  tread ;  many  would  willingly 


DOWN  HILL  289 

have  gone  on  tapping  their  heels  to  keep  themselves  warm. 
The  gaping  cavity,  beside  which  the  coffin  was  laid,  was 
already  frozen  within,  and  looked  white  and  stony,  like  a 
quarry  hole  ;  and  the  mourners,  grouped  round  little  heaps  of 
gravel,  did  not  find  it  at  all  pleasant  to  stand  still  in  such 
piercing  cold,  and  gaze  into  the  grave.  At  length,  a  priest  in 
a  surplice  came  forth  from  a  little  cottage  :  he  was  shivering, 
and  one  could  see  his  steaming  breath  at  each  Be  Profimdis 
that  he  uttered.  At  the  final  sign  of  the  cross  he  bolted  off, 
without  any  desire  to  go  through  the  service  again.  Then  the 
sexton  took  his  shovel,  but  on  account  of  the  frost  was  only 
able  to  detach  some  large  lumps  of  soil,  which  beat  a  fine 
tune  down  below.  It  was  like  a  bombardment  of  the  corpse, 
an  artillery  fire  of  such  volume  that  one  might  have  thought 
the  coffin  was  splitting.  It  is  all  very  well  for  folks  to  be  cynical, 
but  such  music  as  that  soon  upsets  one.  The  weeping  began 
afresh,  and  as  they  moved  off,  even  when  they  had  got  out- 
side, they  still  heard  the  detonations.  My-Boots,  who  was 
blowing  on  his  fingers,  suddenly  exclaimed :  *  Ah  1  thunder  1 
poor  Mother  Coupeau  won't  feel  at  all  warm,  that  she  won't.' 

'Ladies  and  gentlemen,'  then  said  the  zinc- worker  to  the 
few  friends  who  remained  in  the  street  with  the  family,  *  will 
you  permit  us  to  offer  you  some  refreshments  ?  '  And  he  was 
the  first  to  enter  a  wine-shop  in  the  Rue  Marcadet,  called  the 
*  Return  from  the  Cemetery.' 

Gervaise,  who  had  remained  outside,  called  Goujet,  who 
was  moving  off,  after  again  nodding  to  her.  Why  didn't  he 
accept  a  glass  of  wine  ?  she  asked.  He  was  in  a  hurry,  he 
said,  he  was  going  back  to  the  workshop.  Then  they  looked 
at  each  other  for  a  moment  without  speaking. 

*  I  must  beg  your  pardon  for  asking  you  for  the  sixty 
francs,'  at  length  murmured  the  laundress.  *  I  was  half  crazy, 
but  I  thought  of  you ' 

*  Oh  !  don't  mention  it ;  you're  fuUy  forgiven,'  interrupted 
the  blacksmith.  *  And  you  know,  I'm  quite  at  your  service  if 
any  misfortune  should  overtake  you.  But  don't  say  anything 
to  mamma,  because  she  has  her  ideas,  and  I  don't  wish  to 
cause  her  annoyance.' 

She  was  still  looking  at  him ;  and,  seeing  him  so  good 
and  kind  and  sad,  she  was  on  the  point  of  agreeing  to  his  old 
proposal  of  going  away  with  him  and  living  happily  elsewhere. 
But  another  wicked  thought  came  into  her  head,  which  was 
to  borrow  of  him  the  money  for  the  overdue  rent  at  no  matter 

u 


290  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

what  cost.  She  trembled,  and  resumed  in  a  caressing  ^oice  : 
*  We're  not  bad  friends,  are  we  ?  ' 

He  shook  his  head  as  he  answered,  *  No,  certainly  not ; 
we  shall  never  be  bad  friends.  Only,  you  understand,  it's  all 
over.* 

And  he  strode  away,  leaving  Gervaise  bewildered,  listening 
to  his  last  words  which  rang  in  her  ears  like  the  clang  of  a 
big  bell.  On  entering  the  wine-shop,  she  seemed  to  hear  a 
voice  within  her  repeating,  *  It  is  all  over,  well !  if  it  is  all 
over,  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  to  do !  '  Then  sitting 
down,  she  swallowed  a  mouthful  of  bread  and  cheese,  and 
emptied  a  glass  full  of  wine  which  she  found  before  her. 

The  place  was  a  long,  low,  ground-floor  room,  furnished 
with  two  big  tables.  Bottles  of  wine,  hunks  of  bread,  and 
large  triangular  slices  of  Brie  cheese  set  upon  three  plates 
were  spread  out  in  a  row.  The  party  was  just  having  a  snack, 
without  either  table-cloth  or  covers.  Farther  off,  beside  the 
roaring  stove,  the  four  mutes  were  finishing  their  lunch. 

•  Well,  well  I '  explained  M.  Madinier,  '  we  each  have  our 
turn.  The  old  folks  make  room  for  the  young  ones.  Your 
lodging  will  seem  very  empty  to  you  now  when  you  go  home.* 

'  Oh  !  my  brother's  going  to  give  notice,'  hastily  said 
Madame  Lorilleux.     '  That  shop's  ruination.' 

They  had  been  working  upon  Coupeau.  Every  one  was 
urging  him  to  give  up  the  lease.  Madame  Lerat  herself,  who 
had  been  on  very  good  terms  with  Lantier  and  Virginie  for 
some  time  past,  and  who  entertained  the  idea  that  they  were 
a  trifle  smitten  with  one  another,  talked  of  bankruptcy  and 
imprisonment,  putting  on  most  terrified  airs.  And,  suddenly, 
the  emotion  of  the  zinc-worker,  who  was  already  overdosed 
with  liquor,  turned  to  fury.  *  Listen,'  cried  he,  poking  hia 
nose  in  his  wife's  face  ;  *  I  intend  that  you  shall  listen  to  me  ! 
You're  so  stubborn  that  you'll  always  have  your  own  way. 
But,  this  time,  I  intend  to  have  mine,  I  warn  you !  ' 

*  Ah !  well,'  said  Lantier,  '  one  never  yet  brought  her  to 
reason  by  fair  words ;  it  wants  a  mallet  to  drive  any  sense 
into  her  head.' 

And  both  fell  to  abusing  her  for  a  while.  This  did  not 
interfere,  however,  with  the  eating  and  drinking — the  Brie 
cheese  disappeared,  and  the  wine  flowed  freely.  Meantime, 
Gervaise  fast  gave  way  before  the  attack.  She  answered 
nothing,  but  hurried  herself,  her  mouth  ever  full,  as  though 
she   had  been   very  hungry.     And  when  they  got  tired  of 


DOWNHILL  291 

shouting,  she  gently  raised  her  head  and  said,  *  That's  enough, 
isn't  it  ?  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  the  shop  1  I  want  no  more 
of  it.     Do  you  understand  ?  It  can  go  to  blazes  I  All  is  over  ! ' 

Then  they  ordered  some  more  bread  and  cheese  and  talked 
business.  The  Poissons  took  the  rest  of  the  lease  and  agreed 
to  be  answerable  for  the  overdue  rent.  Boche,  moreover, 
pompously  agreed  to  the  arrangement  in  the  landlord's  name. 
He  even  then  and  there  let  the  Coupeaus  a  lodging  on  the 
sixth  floor,  in  the  same  passage  as  the  Lorilleux  apartment. 
As  for  Lantier,  well  I  he  would  rather  like  to  keep  his  room, 
if  it  did  not  inconvenience  the  Poissons.  The  poUceman 
bowed  ;  it  did  not  inconvenience  him  at  all ;  friends  always 
get  on  together,  whatever  be  the  difference  in  their  political 
ideas.  And  then  Lantier,  like  a  man  who  has  at  length 
settled  his  own  little  business,  refrained  from  any  further 
interference  in  the  matter.  He  spread  some  Brie  over  a  huge 
slice  of  bread,  leant  back  in  his  chair  and  ate  with  gusto,  hi3 
blood  meanwhile  tingling  beneath  his  skin,  his  whole  body 
glowing  with  crafty  joy,  as  he  blinked  his  eyes  to  peep  first  at 
Gervaise  and  then  at  Virginie. 

*  Hi !  old  Bazouge  1  *  suddenly  called  Coupeau,  *  come  and 
have  a  drink.   We're  not  proud,  you  kncrw  ;  we're  all  workers.* 

The  four  mutes  who  were  going  off  thereupon  came  back 
to  chink  glasses  with  the  company.  They  didn't  want  to 
complain,  said  they,  but  the  lady  they  had  been  handling 
weighed  precious  heavy,  and  such  work  was  well  worth  a  glass 
of  wine.  Although  old  Bazouge  did  not  utter  a  single  un- 
becoming word,  he  nevertheless  stared  at  the  laundress  so 
persistently  that  she  felt  uneasy  and  rose  to  leave  the  men, 
who,  by  the  way,  were  all  getting  tipsy.  Coupeau,  who  was 
already  as  drunk  as  a  pig,  began  bellowing  once  more,  and 
said  that  it  was  with  grief. 

That  evening,  when  Gervaise  found  herself  at  home  again, 
she  remained  huddled  on  a  chair  in  a  state  of  stupor.  The 
rooms  seemed  to  her  immense  and  quite  deserted.  That  death 
was  really  a  good  riddance.  But  it  was  certain  that  she  had 
not  merely  left  Mother  Coupeau  in  that  hole  in  the  little 
garden  ground  of  the  Rue  Marcadet.  She  missed  too  many 
things,  most  likely  some  part  of  her  life,  and  her  shop  too 
and  her  pride  of  position,  and  other  feelings  besides,  all  which 
she  had  buried  that  very  day.  Yes,  the  walls  were  bare,  and 
her  heart  was  bare  also  ;  the  clear-out  was  complete,  she  had 
rolled  to  the  bottom  of  the  pit.    And  she  felt  too  weary  to  do 

u  2 


292  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

anything  ;  she  would  pick  herself  up  again  some  other  time, 
if  she  could. 

Later  jn,  at  ten  o'clock,  there  was  a  scene  with  Nana,  who 
while  undressing  began  to  sob  and  stamp.  She  wanted  to 
sleep  in  Mother  Coupeau's  bed.  Gervaise  tried  to  frighten 
her ;  but  the  child  was  too  precocious.  Corpses  only  inspired 
her  with  great  curiosity;  and  so  for  the  sake  of  peace,  she  was 
at  last  allowed  to  lie  down  in  Mother  Coupeau's  place.  She 
liked  big  beds,  in  which  she  could  spread  herself  out  and  roll 
about.  And  she  slept  uncommonly  well  that  night  amidst 
the  pleasant  warmth  from  the  feather  mattresses. 


X 

MISERY 

The  Coupeaus'  new  lodging  was  on  the  sixth  floor,  staircase 
B.  After  passing  Mademoiselle  Remanjou's  door,  it  was 
necessary  to  take  the  passage  on  the  left.  Then  came  another 
turning.  The  first  door  was  the  Bijards',  almost  in  front  of 
which  old  Bru  slept,  in  a  hole  under  a  little  staircase,  climb- 
ing to  the  roof.  Two  doors  farther  on  one  came  to  Bazouge's ; 
then  the  next  den  was  the  Coupeaus',  a  room  and  closet,  over- 
looking the  courtyard.  And  there  were  only  two  more 
lodgings  along  the  passage  before  getting  to  the  Lorilleux, 
who  were  right  at  the  end. 

A  room  and  a  closet,  no  more,  such  was  the  Coupeaus' 
nest  now.  And  the  room  was  scarcely  larger  than  one's 
hand.  They  had  to  do  everything  in  it — eat,  sleep,  and  all 
the  rest.  Nana's  bed  just  squeezed  into  the  closet ;  she  had 
to  dress  in  her  parents'  room,  and  her  door  was  kept  open  ai 
night-time  so  that  she  might  not  stifle.  There  was  so  little 
space  that  on  giving  up  the  shop  Gervaise  had  sold  various 
things  to  the  Poissons,  unable  as  she  was  to  find  room  for 
them.  What  with  the  bed,  the  table,  and  four  chairs,  the 
lodging  was  about  full.  However,  she  refused  to  part  with  her 
chest  of  drawers,  and  therefore  encumbered  what  little  space 
remained  with  that  lumbering  piece  of  furniture,  which 
blocked  up  half  the  window.  One  side  of  the  latter  could 
never  be  opened,  and  thus  little  light  and  cheerfulness  were 
able  to  enter.    Whenever  she  wanted  to  look  down  into  the 


MISERY  293 

courtyard,  there  was  not  enough  room  for  her  elbows,  so 
stout  had  she  now  grown,  and  she  had  to  lean  out  sideways, 
straining  her  neck  in  order  to  see. 

During  the  first  few  days,  the  laundress  did  little  but  sit 
still  and  cry.  It  seemed  to  her  too  hard  to  be  unable  to 
move  about  in  her  home,  after  having  been  used  to  so  much 
room.  She  felt  stifled ;  and  remained  at  the  window  for 
hours,  squeezed  between  the  wall  and  the  drawers,  and 
getting  a  stiff  neck.  It  was  only  there  that  she  could  breathe 
freely.  And  yet  the  courtyard  scarcely  inspired  her  with 
other  than  sad  thoughts.  Opposite  to  her,  on  the  sunny  side, 
she  beheld  her  dream  of  bygone  days,  that  fifth  floor  window, 
where,  every  spring-time,  some  scarlet  runners  twined  their 
slender  stems  over  an  arbour  of  string.  Her  room  was  on 
the  shady  side,  where  pots  of  mignonette  would  not  last  a 
week.  Ah  !  no,  Ufe  was  not  taking  a  pleasant  turn,  this 
was  scarcely  the  existence  she  had  hoped  for.  Instead  of 
spending  her  old  age  amidst  flowers,  she  was  already 
floundering  amidst  uncleanliness. 

On  leaning  out  one  day,  Gervaise  experienced  a  peculiar 
sensation  :  she  fancied  she  could  see  herself  down  below,  near 
the  doorkeeper's  room  under  the  porch,  examining  the  house 
for  the  first  time ;  and  this  leap  thirteen  years  backwards 
brought  a  pang  to  her  heart.  The  courtyard  had  not 
changed,  the  bare  frontages  were  scarcely  blacker  or  more 
leprous  ;  a  nasty  smell  still  ascended  from  the  rusty  sinks  ;  on 
the  lines  at  the  windows,  hnen  hung  to  dry  as  formerly  ;  down 
below,  the  uneven  pavement  was  littered  with  cinders  from 
the  locksmith's  and  shavings  from  the  carpenter's  ;  even,  in 
the  damp  corner  near  the  water  tap,  there  was  a  beautiful 
blue  pool  that  had  flowed  from  the  dyer's,  a  blue  as  delicate 
as  the  blue  of  bygone  days.  But  she  herself  felt  terribly 
changed  and  worn.  To  begin  with,  she  was  no  longer  there 
below,  her  face  raised  to  heaven,  happy  and  courageous 
and  aspiring  to  a  comfortable  home.  She  was  right  up  under 
the  roof  among  the  dirty  ones,  in  the  most  horrid  of  dens, 
which  never  a  ray  of  sunshine  reached.  And  that  explained 
her  tears ;  she  could  not  feel  enchanted  with  her  lot. 

However,  when  Gervaise  had  grown  somewhat  used  to  it, 
things  were  not  so  bad  for  a  time  in  the  new  home.  The 
winter  was  almost  over,  and  the  little  money  received  for  the 
furniture  sold  to  Yirginie  proved  of  help.  Then,  with  the 
fine  weather  came  a  piece  of  luck.    Coupeau  got  an  engage- 


^94  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

ment  to  work  in  the  country,  at  Etampes  ;  and  he  remained 
there  for  nearly  three  months  without  once  getting  drunk, 
cured  for  a  time  by  the  fresh  air.  People  scarcely  have  an 
idea  how  readily  tipplers  get  rid  of  their  thirst  when  they 
leave  Paris,  where  the  streets  reek  with  the  fumes  of  wine  and 
brandy.  Coupeau,  on  his  return,  was  as  fresh  as  a  rose,  and 
brought  back  with  him  four  hundred  francs,  with  which  they 
paid  the  overdue  shop-rent,  for  which  the  Poissons  had 
become  answerable,  and  also  the  most  pressing  of  their  little 
debts  in  the  neighbourhood.  By  this  means,  Gervaise 
*  opened*  two  or  three  streets  through  which  she  had  not 
ventured  to  pass  for  a  long  time.  She  had  naturally  become 
a  journey  woman  ironer  again.  Madame  Fauconnier,  a  very 
worthy  creature,  provided  one  flattered  her,  had  been  willing 
to  re-engage  her.  She  even  gave  her  three  francs  a  day,  the 
same  as  to  a  first-class  workwoman,  out  of  regard  for  her  former 
position  of  employer.  Thus  it  seemed  as  though  the  couple 
would  manage  to  jog  along.  Gervaise  could  even  foresee  the 
day  when,  by  dint  of  work  and  economy,  they  might  be  able 
to  pay  everyone  and  arrange  for  themselves  a  modest  exist- 
ence which  would  be  bearable.  This,  however,  she  promised 
herself  in  the  feverishness  born  of  the  big  sum  of  money 
which  her  husband  had  brought  home.  When  she  cooled 
down,  she  accepted  life  as  it  came,  saying  that  fine  things 
never  lasted. 

That  which  caused  the  Coupeaus  most  suffering  at  this 
time,  was  to  see  the  Poissons  take  possession  of  their  shop. 
They  were  not  naturally  jealous,  but  people  aggravated 
them,  by  going  into  ecstasies  in  their  presence  over  the  em- 
bellishments of  their  successors.  The  Boches,  and  particularly 
the  Lorilleux,  never  tired.  According  to  them,  no  one  had 
ever  seen  so  beautiful  a  shop.  And  they  talked  of  the  dirty 
state  in  which  the  Poissons  had  found  the  premises,  relating 
that  the  cleaning  alone  had  cost  them  thirty  francs.  Virginie, 
after  considerable  hesitation,  had  decided  to  work  up  a  little 
business  in  superfine  groceries,  such  as  sweetmeats,  chocolate, 
coffee  and  tea.  Lantier  had  warmly  recommended  this  line 
to  her,  saying  that  enormous  sums  were  to  be  made  out  of 
dainties.  The  shop  was  painted  black,  relieved  with  yellow 
fillets,  two  very  genteel  colours.  Three  carpenters  worked 
for  eight  days  in  fitting  up  the  pigeon-holes,  the  glass  cases,  and 
the  counter  with  its  stands  for  glass  jars,  as  at  a  confectioner's. 
The  little  legacy  which  Poisson  had  held  in  reserve  must 


MISERY  295 

have  been  a  good  deal  broken  into  by  all  this  ;  but  Virginie 
triumphed,  and  the  Lorilleux,  assisted  by  the  doorkeepers, 
did  not  spare  Gervaise  the  enumeration  of  a  pigeon-hole,  a 
show-case  or  a  glass  jar,  feeling  much  amused  whenever  they 
saw  her  change  countenance.  Yes  I  a  person  may  not  be 
envious,  but  nevertheless  one  loses  one's  temper  when  others 
put  on  one's  boots  and  stamp  upon  one. 

There  was,  too,  another  question  beneath  all  this.  It 
was  asserted  that  Lantier  had  broken  off  with  Gervaise, 
which  the  neighbourhood  declared  to  be  quite  right.  For 
at  all  events  there  would  now  be  a  little  more  morality  in  the 
street.  And  all  the  honour  of  the  separation  was  accorded  to 
the  crafty  hatter,  who  was  still  the  favourite  of  the  ladies. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  there  was  certainly  a  change  in  the 
relations  of  Lantier  and  Gervaise,  for  they  no  longer  lived 
side  by  side ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  the  hatter  certainly 
visited  the  laundress's  sixth  floor  lodging.  Probably,  there 
was  little  love  lost  between  them  ;  still  there  had  as  yet 
been  no  positive  rupture.  What  complicated  the  situation 
was  that  the  neighbours  soon  began  to  couple  Virginie's  name 
with  Lantier' s,  in  which  the  neighbours  went  too  fast.  No 
doubt  the  hatter  was  ogling  the  tall  brunette ;  in  fact  that 
was  part  of  his  plan  ;  but,  so  far,  he  had  made  little  progress 
in  this  direction.  All  the  same  the  Lorilleux  talked  in  sym- 
pathetic strains  of  Lantier  and  Madame  Poisson  in  the  hope 
of  making  Gervaise  jealous ;  and  the  Boches  also  gave  out 
that  they  had  never  before  seen  so  handsome  a  couple.  The 
strangest  part  of  all  this  was  that  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or 
did  not  seem  to  take  offence  at  the  developments  which  it 
believed  in ;  no,  the  moralists  who  had  been  so  stern  for  Ger- 
vaise, were  mild  for  Virginie.  Perhaps  the  indulgence  of  the 
street  came  from  the  fact  that  the  husband  was  a  policeman  ; 
any  misfortune  of  any  description  that  may  befall  a  member 
of  the  police  force  being  particularly  dear  to  the  great  bulk 
of  the  Parisians. 

Gervaise  fortunately  was  not  much  troubled  by  jealousy. 
"Whatever  Lantier  might  do  left  her  very  calm,  as  for  a  long 
time  past  her  heart  had  played  no  part  in  their  relations.  She 
had  been  made  acquainted  with  some  very  horrid  stories 
about  the  hatter  and  all  sorts  of  creatures  ;  yet  none  of  these 
had  stirred  her  to  anger.  However,  she  did  not  so  quietly 
accept  the  coupling  of  Lantier's  name  with  that  of  Virginie, 
for  its  object  seemed  to  be  to  annoy  and  deride  her.     Perhaps, 


296  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

too,  it  was  part  of  the  big  brunette's  scheme  of  revenge.  And 
so  whenever  Madame  Lorilleux  or  some  other  spiteful 
creature  alluded  to  the  matter  in  her  presence  she  turned 
quite  pale,  with  a  gnawing  at  her  heart  strings,  a  burning 
sensation  in  her  bosom.  She  often  bit  her  lips,  and  sought 
to  repress  an  explosion,  for  she  did  not  wish  to  give  her 
enemies  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  in  a  rage.  Nevertheless, 
she  must  have  picked  a  quarrel  with  Lantier,  for  one  after- 
noon Mademoiselle  Eemanjou,  her  neighbour,  thought  she 
heard  the  sound  of  a  slap ;  besides,  there  certainly  was  some 
disagreement  between  them,  for  Lantier  did  not  speak  to  her 
for  a  fortnight.  Then  he  was  the  first  to  make  it  up,  and 
everything  seemed  to  jog  on  again,  as  though  nothing  had 
happened.  The  laundress  preferred  to  put  up  with  a  bad  job, 
not  caring  to  make  her  life  worse  than  it  really  was.  She 
was  no  longer  twenty ;  she  no  longer  loved  Lantier  or  any 
other,  to  the  point  of  spanking  such  creatures  as  Virginie,  and 
thereby  running  the  risk  of  being  locked  up.  Only,  she 
added  this  fresh  piece  of  deceit  on  to  all  the  rest. 

Coupeau  laughed.  This  easy-going  husband,  who  was 
blind  at  home,  indulged  in  no  end  of  chaff  concerning  the 
Poissons  and  Lantier.  And,  indeed,  he  began  to  jeer  at 
Gervaise — by  way  of  joking,  undoubtedly — though  she  turned 
green  with  terror,  so  piercing  was  the  glance  of  his  little  grey 
eyes  as  he  scoffed  about  her  various  admirers — the  hatter, 
the  blacksmith,  and  so  forth.  She  herself  could  never  tell 
whether  he  was  laughing  or  not.  A  man  who  gets  drunk 
from  one  end  of  the  year  to  the  other,  no  longer  knows  what 
he  says  ;  and  there  are  husbands  who,  although  they  are  very 
jealous  at  twenty,  are,  ten  years  later,  so  degraded  by  drink, 
that  they  attach  little  or  no  importance  to  conjugal  fidelity. 

It  was  a  sight  to  see  Coupeau  swaggering  about  the  Rue 
de  la  Goutte-d'Or  and  talking  about  the  Poissons  and  Lantier. 
Oh,  he  knew  what  he  knew.  He  had  heard  tittle-tattle  about 
himself  and  his  wife,  and  if  he  hadn't  given  it  any  notice  it 
was,  apparently,  because  he  did  not  care  for  rows.  But  this 
time  the  question  was  not  one  of  mere  libellous  gossip.  The 
facts  were  patent,  and  he,  Coupeau,  could  not  understand  how 
a  policeman,  a  person  in  the  employ  of  the  Government,  could 
tolerate  such  a  scandal  in  his  home.  However,  whilst  the 
zinc-worker  thus  railed  at  the  Poissons,  he  did  not  quarrel 
with  Lantier. 

On  the  evenings  when  he  felt  dull,  all  alone  with  his  wife 


MISERY  2^7 

in  their  hole  under  the  roof,  he  would  go  down  for  the  hatter 
and  carry  him  off  by  force.  He  considered  the  nest  a  sad 
place  now  that  his  comrade  no  longer  shared  it.  He  often 
reconciled  him  and  Gervaise  when  he  saw  them  sulking ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  Lantier,  who  now  put  on  the  most 
consequential  airs,  showing  himself  alike  paternal  and 
dignified,  repeatedly  prevented  a  quarrel  between  the  Coupeaus 
and  the  Poissons.  A  good  understanding  between  the  two 
families  formed  indeed  a  part  of  the  hatter's  scheme  of  life. 
Thanks  to  the  vigilance  with  which  he  watched  over 
Gervaise  and  Virginie,  they  still  pretended  to  entertain  great 
friendship  for  one  another.  He  reigned  over  both  blonde  and 
brunette  like  a  pasha,  and  fattened  on  his  cunning.  He  was 
still  digesting  the  Coupeaus'  shop  when  he  already  began 
to  devour  that  of  the  Poissons.  Oh,  it  was  all  easy  work  for 
him  1  as  soon  as  one  establishment  was  swallowed,  he 
started  on  a  second.  As  people  sometimes  said,  it  is  only 
men  of  his  sort  who  ever  have  any  luck. 

It  was  in  June  that  year  that  Nana  was  confirmed.  She 
was  now  nearly  thirteen  years  old,  bold  and  impudent,  and  as 
tall  as  an  asparagus  shoot  run  to  seed.  During  the  previous 
year  she  had  been  dismissed  from  the  catechism  class  on 
account  of  her  bad  behaviour ;  and  the  priest  had  only 
allowed  her  to  join  it  this  time  from  a  fear  of  losing  her 
altogether,  and  thus  casting  one  more  heathen  on  to  the 
streets.  Nana  danced  for  joy  as  she  thought  of  the  white 
dress  which  she  was  to  wear  at  the  ceremony.  The  Lorilleux, 
being  her  godfather  and  godmother,  had  promised  to  provide 
it,  and  took  good  care  to  let  every  one  in  the  house  know  of 
their  intention.  Madame  Lerat  on  her  side  was  to  give  the 
requisite  veil  and  cap,  Virginie  the  purse,  and  Lantier  the 
prayer-book  ;  so  that  the  Coupeaus  looked  forward  to  the 
ceremony  without  any  great  pecuniary  anxiety.  Indeed,  the 
Poissons,  wishing  to  give  a  house-warming,  fixed  it  for  this 
very  occasion,  no  doubt  by  the  hatter's  advice.  They  invited 
both  the  Coupeaus  and  the  Boches,  whose  little  girl  was  also 
going  to  be  confirmed  ;  and  it  was  arranged  that  the  company 
should  partake  of  a  leg  of  mutton  and  the  usual  trimmings. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  on  the  evening  prior  to  the 
confirmation,  Coupeau  returned  home  in  a  most  abominable 
condition,  just  as  Nana  was  gazing  admiringly  at  the  presents 
made  her,  which  were  spread  out  upon  the  chest  of  drawers. 
The  atmosphere  of  Paris  was  again  getting  the  better  of  the 


298  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

zinc-worker,  and  he  fell  foul  of  his  wife  and  child  in  a  dis- 
gusting drunken  way,  which  was  particularly  unseemly  at 
such  a  time.  Nana  herself,  however,  was  beginning  to  use 
Bome  very  bad  expressions,  learnt  by  listening  to  all  the  filthy 
conversation  which  continually  went  on  around  her.  Now- 
adays, when  there  was  a  row,  she  would  often  call  her  mother 
an  old  camel  and  a  cow.  In  this  way  do  the  children  of  the 
poor  start  on  a  downward  course. 

*  And  bread  I  '  yelled  the  zinc-worker  as  he  came  in.  *  I 
want  my  soup,  you  couple  of  jades  !  There's  females  for  you, 
always  thinking  of  their  finery  I  I'll  sit  on  those  gew-gaws, 
you  know,  if  I  don't  get  my  soup  I ' 

*  How  unbearable  he  is  when  he's  screwed  ! '  muttered 
Gervaise,  out  of  patience  ;  and,  turning  towards  him,  she 
exclaimed  :  '  It's  warming,  don't  bother  us.' 

Nana  was  doing  the  modest,  because  she  thought  it 
nice  and  proper  on  such  a  day.  She  continued  gazing  at  the 
presents  on  the  chest  of  drawers,  affectedly  lowering  her 
eyelids,  and  pretending  not  to  understand  her  father's  vile 
words.  But  the  zinc-worker  became  a  fearful  plague  on  the 
nights  when  he  had  drunk  too  much.  Poking  his  face  against 
her  neck,  he  went  on :  *  I'll  give  you  white  dresses,  you 
hussy  I  Are  you  going  to  stuff  the  body  full  of  paper  again, 
as  you  did  last  Sunday  ?  Yes,  yes,  wait  a  bit  I  I  know  aU 
about  it  1  Just  bundle  aU  that  tomfoolery  into  a  drawer, 
you  ugly  little  slut  1  And  make  haste,  or  I'll  clean  you  with 
it  I' 

Nana,  whose  head  was  bowed,  did  not  answer  a  word. 
She  had  taken  up  the  little  tulle  cap  given  by  her  aunt  Lerat, 
and  was  asking  her  mother  how  much  it  cost.  And  as 
Coupeau  thrust  out  his  hand  to  clutch  hold  of  the  cap,  it  was 
Gervaise  who  pushed  him  aside,  exclaiming:  'Do  leave  the 
child  alone  I  she's  very  good,  she's  doing  no  harm.' 

But  at  this  the  zinc-worker  fired  up  in  real  earnest :  '  Ah  I 
the  hussies  !  The  mother  and  daughter  make  the  pair.  It's 
a  nice  thing  to  go  to  church  just  to  show  off  a  lot  of  finery 
and  ogle  the  men.  But  I'll  dress  you  in  a  sack,  you  little 
slattern.  Yes,  in  a  sack,  just  to  disgust  you  and  the  priests 
too.  And  as  for  all  that  finery,  I'll  precious  soon  tear  it  up,  I 
wiU.' 

At  this,  Nana  turned  round  in  a  fury,  whilst  Gervaise  had 
to  spread  out  her  arms  to  protect  the  garments.  The  child, 
however,  looked  her  father  straight  in  the  face;   and,  for- 


MISERY  999 

getting  all  the  self-restraint  inculcated  by  her  confessor,  she 
exclaimed,  clenching  her  teeth,  *  You  pig  1 ' 

Fortunately  nothing  more  came  of  it.  As  soon  as  the 
zinc-worker  had  gulped  down  his  soup,  he  snored.  And  on 
the  morrow,  he  awote  in  a  very  good  humour.  He  still  felt 
some  of  the  effects  of  his  carouse  on  the  previous  day,  but 
only  just  sufficient  to  make  him  amiable.  He  witnessed 
the  robing  of  the  child  with  much  pleasure,  deeply  affected 
by  the  white  dress,  and  declaring  that  a  mere  nothing  gave 
that  little  vermin  quite  a  young-lady  look.  And  it  was, 
indeed,  something  to  see  the  stylish  airs  which  Nana  put  on 
with  her  snowy  gown,  which  was  rather  too  short  for  her.  She 
smiled  in  an  embarrassed  way  like  a  young  bride.  When  she 
went  downstairs,  and  caught  sight  of  Pauline,  likewise  already 
robed  and  standing  outside  the  doorkeeper's  room,  she  stopped 
and  examined  her  with  a  clear,  keen  glance,  and  became  very 
nice  and  amiable  on  noticing  that  her  clothes  were  not  nearly 
so  stylish  as  her  own,  and  fitted  her,  moreover,  so  ill  that  she 
looked  like  a  mere  bundle. 

The  two  families  started  for  the  church  together.  Nana 
and  Pauline  walked  ahead,  carrying  their  prayer-books,  and 
holding  down  their  veils  on  account  of  the  wind ;  they  did 
not  speak,  but  they  nearly  burst  with  delight  at  seeing  people 
come  to  their  shop-doors  ;  and  they  assumed  devout,  demure 
expressions  in  order  that  folks  might  say  as  they  passed  that 
they  looked  very  nice.  Madame  Boche  and  Madame  Lorilleux 
lagged  behind,  because  they  wished  to  exchange  opinions 
about  the  Hobbler,  that  gobble-all,  whose  daughter  would 
never  have  been  confirmed  if  the  family  had  not  found  every- 
thing that  was  required  ;  yes,  everything,  even  a  new  chemise, 
out  of  respect  for  the  holy  altar.  Madame  Lorilleux  particu- 
larly busied  herself  with  her  own  present,  the  dress ;  glancing 
harshly  at  Nana,  and  calling  her  a  *  big  slut '  each  time  that 
a  little  dust  fell  on  her  skirt,  through  her  going  too  near  to  the 
shop  fronts. 

At  church,  Coupeau  wept  the  whole  time.  It  was  stupid, 
but  he  could  not  help  it.  It  affected  him  so  much  to  see  the 
priest  waving  his  arms  about,  and  all  the  little  girls  passing 
angel-Hke  before  him  with  clasped  hands.  The  music  of  the 
organ,  moreover,  stirred  his  very  vitals,  and  the  pleasant  smell 
of  the  incense  made  him  sniff,  just  as  though  some  one  had 
thrust  a  bouquet  of  flowers  under  his  nose.  In  short,  all  was 
azure  to  his  gaze,  his  very  heart  was  touched.    There  was 


300  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

one  canticle  especially,  something  particularly  sweet,  which 
was  sung  whilst  the  children  partook  of  the  Communion,  and 
which  seemed  to  course  with  a  shiver  down  his  neck  and 
backbone.  Round  about  him,  too,  numerous  sensitive  people 
were  soaking  their  pocket  handkerchiefs.  Really,  it  was  a 
fine  day,  the  finest  day  of  his  life.  However,  when,  on 
leaving  church,  he  went  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  Lorilleux, 
who  had  kept  his  own  eyes  dry,  and  chaffed  him,  he  flew  into 
a  passion,  and  accused  the  rooks,  as  he  called  the  priests,  of 
burning  the  devil's  own  herbs  in  their  churches  in  order  to 
deprive  people  of  all  manliness.  But,  all  the  same,  he  made 
no  secret  of  it,  his  eyes  had  indeed  melted,  which  simply 
proved  that  he  had  not  got  a  paving- stone  for  a  heart  after  all. 
And  thereupon  he  ordered  the  glasses  to  be  filled  afresh. 

That  evening,  the  Poissons'  house-warming  was  very 
lively.  Friendship  reigned  without  a  hitch  from  one  to  the 
other  end  of  the  feast.  In  this  wise,  however  bad  the  times, 
one  occasionally  comes  in  for  a  pleasant  evening  when  sworn 
enemies  love  one  another.  Lantier,  with  Gervaise  on  his  left 
and  Virginie  on  his  right,  was  most  amiable  to  both  of  them. 
Opposite  sat  Poisson,  preserving  the  calm  and  dignified  air  of 
a  policeman  who,  with  dim  eyes,  remained  thinking  of  nothing 
during  his  long  beats  over  the  pavements.  But  the  queens  of 
the  feast  were  the  two  girls,  Nana  and  Pauline,  who  had  been 
allowed  to  retain  their  confirmation  finery  ;  they  sat  bolt  up- 
right, through  fear  of  spilling  anything  on  their  white  dresses, 
and  at  every  mouthful  they  were  told  to  hold  up  their  chins, 
and  eat  in  cleanly  fashion.  Nana,  greatly  bored  by  all  this 
fuss,  ended  by  letting  some  wine  fall  over  the  body  of  her 
dress,  whereupon  there  was  a  great  to-do,  the  gown  being 
taken  off,  and  the  stains  at  once  washed  out  with  a  little  water. 

Then,  at  dessert,  the  children's  future  careers  were  gravely 
discussed.  Madame  Boche  had  already  chosen  a  calling  for 
Pauline,  who  was  to  learn  gold  and  silver  piercing  ;  one  could 
earn  from  five  to  six  francs  a  day  at  this  work.  Gervaise, 
however,  had  not  made  up  her  mind ;  Nana  showed  no  inclina- 
tion for  anything,  unless  it  were  for  running  about  the  streets. 
At  everything  else,  she  was  butter-fingered. 

*  In  your  place,'  said  Madame  Lerat,  '  I  would  bring  her 
up  as  an  artificial  flower-maker.  It's  a  clean  and  pleasant 
occupation.' 

*  Flower-makers,  indeed  I '  muttered  Lorilleux ;  *  why,  they 
all  go  to  the  bad.' 


MISERY  301 

*  Well !  and  I  ?  *  retorted  the  tall  widow,  biting  her  lips. 
*  You're  not  over- gallant.  Have  you  anything  to  say  against 
me?  Have  I  ever  gone  to  the  bad,  indeed?'  And  she 
concluded  with  some  coarse  remarks,  at  which  the  others  pro- 
tested :  *  Madame  Lerat  1  oh  1  Madame  Lerat  I  ' 

Then  they  drew  her  attention  to  the  two  girls  who  were 
dipping  their  noses  in  their  glasses,  in  order  to  avoid  laughing. 
On  their  account,  the  men  themselves  had  hitherto  carefully 
chosen  their  words.  But  Madame  Lerat  would  not  accept  the 
lesson.  She  flattered  herself  that  she  knew  her  mother 
tongue,  and  she  had  often  been  complimented,  said  she,  on 
her  ability  to  speak  without  ever  violating  the  canons  of 
propriety.  And  she  went  on  excitedly  :  '  There  are  some 
very  respectable  women  amongst  the  artificial  flower-makers, 
just  understand  that  1  They're  like  other  women,  of  course ; 
they're  not  all  stone.  But  if  ever  they  are  guilty  of  a  slip 
they  show  taste.  And  that  comes  from  the  flowers.  It's  that 
which  preserved  me.' 

*  Well,  well ! '  ;interrupted  Gervaise,  *  I've  no  dislike  for 
artificial  flower-making.  Only,  I  don't  know  whether  it  will 
please  Nana.  That's  all  I  care  about ;  one  never  ought  to 
thwart  children  on  the  question  of  a  calling.  Come,  Nana, 
don't  be  stupid  ;  tell  me  now,  would  you  like  to  make  flowers  ?  * 

The  girl  was  bending  over  her  plate,  and  gathering  up 
cake  crumbs  with  her  wet  finger-tips,  wlaich  she  afterwards 
sucked.  At  her  mother's  question,  she  did  not  hurry  to  reply, 
but  grinned  in  her  vicious  way.  *  Why  yes,  mamma,  I  should 
like  to,'  she  ended  by  declaring. 

Thereupon  the  matter  was  settled.  Coupeau  was  quite 
willing  that  Madame  Lerat  should  the  very  next  day  take 
Nana  with  her  to  the  establishment  where  she  worked  in  the 
Rue  du  Cairo.  And  they  all  talked  gravely  of  the  duties  of 
Life.  Boche  said  that  Nana  and  Pauline  were  women  now  that 
they  had  partaken  of  the  Communion.  Poisson  added  that 
for  the  future  they  must  know  how  to  cook,  mend  socks,  and 
look  after  a  house.  Something  was  even  said  of  their 
marrying.  The  girls  listened  and  laughed  in  their  sleeves, 
red  and  awkward  in  their  white  dresses,  their  hearts  swelling 
with  pride  at  being  regarded  as  women.  But  what  tickled 
their  fancy  most  was  Lantier's  chaffing  inquiry  whether  they 
had  not  already  chosen  sweethearts.  And  the  others  forced 
Nana  to  confess  that  she  had  great  affection  for  Victor  Faucon- 
nier,  the  son  of  Gervaise's  employer. 


3oa  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

*  Ah  well  1  *  said  Madame  Lorilleux  to  the  Boches,  as  they 
were  all  leaving,  *  she's  our  god-daughter,  but  as  they're  going 
to  put  her  into  the  artificial  flower-making  line,  we  don't  wish 
to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  her.  She'll  go  to  the  bad 
before  six  months  are  over.' 

As  for  the  Coupeaus,  on  their  way  up  to  bed  they  agreed 
that  everything  had  passed  off  pleasantly,  and  that  the 
Poissons  were  not  at  all  bad  people.  Gervaise  even  considered 
the  shop  was  nicely  got  up.  She  had  expected  to  suffer  a 
great  deal  at  thus  spending  the  evening  in  her  old  lodging, 
where  others  were  now  strutting  about ;  and  she  was  surprised 
at  not  having  felt  a  moment's  anger.  Then  Nana,  while  un- 
dressing, inquired  of  her  mother  if  the  young  lady  on  the 
second  floor  who  had  been  married  the  previous  month  had 
worn  a  musUn  gown  like  hers. 

But  that  was  the  Coupeaus'  last  happy  day.  Two  years 
passed  by,  during  which  they  sank  deeper  and  deeper.  The 
winters  in  particular  quite  cleared  them  out.  If  they  had 
bread  to  eat  during  the  fine  weather,  the  rain  and  cold 
brought  hunger  and  many  a  foodless  dinner-hour  in  their  little 
Siberian  den.  That  brutal  month  December  would  steal  into 
their  home  by  the  space  between  the  ill-fitting  door  and  the 
flooring,  bringing  in  its  train  every  ill  imaginable — the  closing 
of  the  workshops,  the  apathetic  idleness  born  of  severe  frost, 
the  black  misery  of  continual  wet  weather.  During  the  first 
winter,  they  still  had  a  fire  at  times,  and  huddled  round  the 
stove,  preferring  warmth  to  food ;  throughout  the  second 
winter,  however,  the  stove  was  not  even  once  cleansed  of  its 
rust,  but  made  the  room  seem  colder  still,  standing  there  fire- 
less,  lugubrious  like  a  cast-iron  milestone.  And  what  took 
the  life  out  of  the  Coupeaus'  limbs,  what  above  all  else  helped 
to  crush  them,  was  the  rent.  Oh  !  that  January  quarter, 
when  there  wasn't  a  copper  in  the  house  and  old  Boche  came 
up  with  the  receipt  already  prepared  !  Then  it  seemed  as  if 
the  wind  blew  colder  than  ever,  like  a  perfect  tempest  from  the 
north.  M.  Marescot  arrived  on  the  following  Saturday, 
wrapped  in  a  good  warm  overcoat,  his  big  luinds  thrust  into 
woollen  gloves ;  and  he  was  for  ever  talking  of  ejecting  them, 
whilst  the  snow  went  on  falling  outside,  as  though  it  were 
spreading  white  sheets  for  them  on  the  pavement.  To  have 
paid  that  quarter's  rent  they  would  have  sold  their  very  flesh. 
It  was  that  rent  which  emptied  the  larder  and  the  stove. 

From  the  whole  house,  moreover,  there  ascended  a  cry  of 


MISERY  303 

tomentation.  There  was  weeping  on  every  floor ;  a  doleful 
music  of  distress  resounding  up  the  staircases  and  all  along 
the  passages.  Had  there  been  a  corpse  in  every  home,  it 
would  not  have  caused  a  more  abominable  noise  of  wailing. 
'Twas  hke  a  last  judgment  day,  the  end  of  everything,  life  an 
impossibility,  the  poor  crushed,  annihilated.  One  woman  on 
the  third  floor,  unable  as  she  was  to  find  honest  work,  had  no 
resource  but  to  earn  her  rent  by  vice,  under  penalty  of  being 
turned  out  into  the  snow,  there  to  freeze  and  die.  To  satisfy 
the  landlord,  whose  cry  was  ever,  '  Pay,  or  out  you  go  1 '  a 
workman,  a  mason  on  the  fifth  floor,  robbed  his  employer. 

As  regards  the  Coupeaus  they  no  doubt  had  only  themselves 
to  blame.  Life  may  be  a  hard  fight,  but  one  pulls  through 
when  one  is  orderly  and  economical — as  witness  the  Lorilleux, 
who  paid  their  rent  to  the  day,  the  money  wrapped  in  a  scrap 
of  dirty  paper  ;  but  they,  it  is  true,  led  the  life  of  starving 
spiders,  something  to  disgust  one  with  work,  if  that  was  all  it 
gave.  Nana  as  yet  earned  nothing  at  flower-making ;  but 
even  cost  a  good  deal  for  her  keep.  And  as  for  Gervaise  she 
was  beginning  to  be  looked  down  upon  at  Madame  Fau- 
connier's.  She  was  fast  losing  her  skill,  bungling  her  work 
to  such  an  extent  that  her  employer  reduced  her  wages  to 
forty  sous  a  day,  the  price  paid  to  the  clumsiest.  Yet  she 
remained  very  proud  and  very  susceptible,  throwing  her 
former  position  in  every  one*s  teeth  whenever  occasion  arose. 
Then  there  were  days  when  she  never  turned  up  at  all,  and 
others  when  she  would  rush  away  in  a  huff.  For  instance, 
on  one  occasion  she  was  so  annoyed  at  Madame  Fauconnier 
engaging  Madame  Putois,  and  at  thus  having  to  iron  side  by 
side  with  her  former  workwoman,  that  she  hurried  off  and  did 
not  return  for  a  fortnight.  When  she  recovered  her  temper, 
she  was  taken  back  simply  out  of  charity,  which  embittered 
her  still  more.  And  naturally  enough,  with  all  this,  on 
Saturdays  she  had  not  much  money  to  receive  ;  as  she  often 
bitterly  observed,  some  week  or  other  she  would  end  by  owing 
something  to  her  employer. 

As  for  Coupeau,  he  perhaps  did  work,  but  in  that  case 
he  certainly  made  a  present  of  his  labour  to  the  revenue ; 
for  since  his  return  from  Etampes,  Gervaise  had 
never  seen  the  shine  of  his  money.  She  no  longer  looked 
at  his  hands  when  he  came  home  on  pay-days.  He  arrived 
with  swinging  arms  and  empty  pockets,  and  often  without 
his  handkerchief.    Well  1  yes,  he  had  lost  his  rag,  or  else 


304  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Bome  rascally  comrade  had  sneaked  it,  said  he.  At  first  he 
rendered  some  accounts,  and  invented  all  sorts  of  lies — ten 
francs  had  gone  for  a  subscription,  twenty  francs  had  fallen 
through  a  hole  which  he  showed  in  his  pocket,  fifty  francs 
had  been  disbursed  in  paying  off  imaginary  debts.  But 
before  long  he  no  longer  troubled  to  give  any  explanations. 
The  money  evaporated,  that  was  all!  It  went  from  his 
pocket  to  his  stomach,  and  that  was  a  jollier  way  of  bringing 
it  home  to  the  missus.  By  Madame  Boche's  advice,  the 
laundress  would  sometimes  go  and  watch  for  her  husband  at 
the  door  of  his  workshop,  so  as  to  secure  the  coin  he  received. 
But  this  did  not  help  her  much  ;  sundry  mates  would  warn 
Coupeau,  and  the  money  would  glide  into  his  shoes  or  some 
other  hiding-place.  Madame  Boche,  for  her  part,  was  very 
cunning  in  such  cases ;  for  Boche  was  in  the  habit  of  doing 
her  out  of  ten-franc  pieces,  for  the  purpose  of  standing  treat  to 
ladies  of  his  acquaintance.  So  at  each  opportunity  she  in- 
spected every  portion  of  his  clothing  ;  and  she  often  found  the 
coin  that  had  not  answered  to  the  roll-call  sewed  up  in  the  peak 
of  his  cap,  between  the  leather  and  the  cloth.  But  the  zinc- 
worker  unfortunately  did  not  pad  his  rags  with  gold !  He 
stuffed  his  money  under  his  flesh,  and  Gervaise  could  not 
take  her  scissors  and  rip  him  open. 

Ah  I  it  was  their  own  fault,  if  every  season  found  them 
lower  and  lower.  But  that's  the  sort  of  thing  which  people 
never  acknowledge,  especially  when  they  are  down  in  the 
mire.  The  Coupeaus,  like  others,  accused  *  luck,'  and  pre- 
tended that  fate  was  against  them.  Their  home  had  now 
become  a  perfect  hell  on  earth.  They  wrangled  the  whole  day 
long.  However,  they  had  not  yet  come  to  blows,  excepting 
it  were  a  few  smacks,  which  somehow  flew  about  when  their 
quarrels  reached  a  climax.  The  saddest  part  of  the  business 
was  that  they  had  opened  the  cage  of  affection  ;  all  better 
feelings  had  taken  flight  like  so  many  canaries.  That  genial 
warmth  which  clings  to  father,  mother,  and  child,  when  they 
remain  united,  close  pressed  in  love  and  concord,  withdrew  from 
them,  and  left  them  shivering,  each  in  his  or  her  corner.  All 
three  of  them — Coupeau,  Gervaise,  and  Nana — were  ever  in  an 
abominable  temper,  biting  each  other's  noses  off  for  a  mere 
nothing,  glaring  at  one  another  with  eyes  full  of  hatred.  It 
seemed  as  though  something  had  broken  :  the  mainspring  of 
family  life,  the  mechanism  which,  with  happy  people,  makes 
every  heart  beat  in  unison.     Ah  1  it  was  certain  that  Gervai^ 


MISERY  305 

was  no  longer  moved  as  of  yore,  when  she  saw  Coupeau  at  the 
edge  of  a  roof,  some  forty  or  fifty  feet  above  the  pavement.  She 
would  not  have  pushed  him  off  herself;  but  if  he  had  fallen  acci- 
dentally, the  earth,  thought  she,  would  truly  have  been  rid  of 
a  good-for-nothing.  On  the  days  when  there  was  a  flare-up 
she  would  shout  aloud :  *  Would  he  never  again  be  brought 
home  on  a  stretcher  I '  She  was  waiting  for  that  to  happen ; 
for  the  return  of  his  corpse  would  be  the  return  of  happiness, 
Of  what  earthly  use  was  he,  that  filthy  drunkard  ?  He  only 
served  to  make  her  weep,  to  devour  all  she  possessed,  and 
drive  her  to  sin.  Men  so  useless  as  he  should  be  thrown  aa 
quickly  as  possible  into  the  common  grave,  so  that  the  polka 
of  deliverance  might  be  danced  over  them  I  And  when  the 
mother  said  *  Kill  I  '  the  daughter  responded  *  Fell  1 '  Nana 
read  all  the  reports  of  accidents  in  the  newspapers,  and  com- 
mented on  them  in  a  way  that  was  unnatural  in  a  daughter. 
Her  father  had  such  wonderful  luck  that  an  omnibus  had  one 
day  knocked  him  down  without  even  sobering  him,  said  she. 
"Would  the  brute  never  croak  ? 

Amidst  this  existence,  embittered  still  more  by  misery, 
Gervaise  also  suffered  from  the  hungry  groans  that  she  heard 
around  her.  That  corner  of  the  house  was  the  most  poverty 
stricken  of  all.  Three  or  four  families  seemed  to  have  agreed 
together  that  they  would  starve  there.  Doors  might  open, 
but  seldom  indeed  was  any  smell  of  cooking  wafted  from  the 
rooms.  All  along  the  passage  reigned  the  silence  of  starva- 
tion ;  the  walls  gave  out  a  hollow  sound  as  empty  stomachs 
do.  At  times  arose  a  noise  of  drubbing,  the  sobs  of  women, 
the  plaintive  cries  of  hungry  brats.  But  it  was  only  a  family 
*  going  '  for  one  another  just  to  deceive  their  stomachs.  In 
that  corner  of  the  big  house  cramp  in  the  throat  was  a 
general  complaint,  spreading  from  every  open,  yearning 
mouth ;  and  chests  contracted  merely  from  breathing  that 
empty  air,  in  which  even  flies  could  not  have  lived  for  lack  of 
food. 

But  the  one  who  most  roused  Gervaise's  pity  was  old  Bru, 
huddled  up  in  his  hole  under  the  little  staircase.  He  retired 
into  it  like  a  marmot,  and  rolled  himself  up  in  a  ball  so  as  to 
feel  less  cold,  remaining  for  days  on  a  heap  of  straw  without 
moving.  Hunger  no  longer  drove  him  out,  for  it  was  useless 
to  go  and  get  up  an  appetite  when  nobody  had  invited  him  to 
dinner.  Whenever  he  had  not  been  seen  for  three  or  four 
days,  the  neighbours  would  push  his  door  open  to  ascertain  if 

X 


3o6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

he  had  come  to  an  end.  But  no  1  he  lived  on  all  the  same  ; 
however  faintly,  he  still  existed.  Even  death  was  forgetting 
him !  Directly  Gervaise  got  hold  of  some  bread  she  would 
throw  him  a  few  crusts.  If  she  was  becoming  bad-hearted 
and  detested  men,  on  account  of  her  husband,  she  always  felt 
sincere  pity  for  animals ;  and  old  Bru,  that  poor  old  fellow 
whom  everybody  left  to  die  because  he  could  no  longer  hold  a 
tool,  seemed  to  her  like  a  dog,  a  beast  past  service,  whose 
skin  and  fat  even  the  knackers  would  not  buy.  It  was  quite 
a  weight  on  her  heart  to  know  that  he  was  always  there,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  passage,  abandoned  by  God  and  man, 
feeding  on  himself,  returning  to  the  size  of  a  child, 
as  shrivelled  and  dried  up  as  a  forgotten  orange  which 
hardens  on  a  shelf. 

The  laundress  also  suffered  a  great  deal  from  the  prox- 
imity of  Bazouge,  the  mute.  A  mere  partition,  and  a  very 
thin  one,  separated  her  room  from  his.  He  could  not  put  a 
finger  into  his  mouth  without  being  heard  by  her.  As  soon 
as  he  came  home  of  an  evening,  she  listened  in  spite  of 
herself  to  everything  he  did.  His  black  leather  hat  fell  upon 
the  chest  of  drawers  with  a  dull  thud,  like  a  shovelful  of 
earth ;  his  black  cloak  rustled  like  the  wings  of  some  night 
bird  against  the  wall  when  he  hung  it  up  ;  all  his  black 
toggery,  flung  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  filled  it  as 
with  the  trappings  of  mourning.  She  listened  to  him  stamp- 
ing about,  feehng  anxious  at  his  every  movement,  quite 
startled  if  he  happened  to  knock  against  the  furniture,  or 
rattle  any  of  his  crockery.  That  sworn  drunkard  became  a 
cause  of  great  concern  to  her,  filling  her  with  secret  fear, 
mingled  with  inquisitiveness.  He,  on  his  side,  jolly,  full  of 
liquor  every  day,  his  head  all  upside  down,  would  cough, 
spit,  sing  '  Mother  Godichon,'  and  fight  with  the  four  walls 
before  finding  his  bedstead.  And  as  she  heard  the  racket  she 
remained  quite  pale,  wondering  whatever  he  was  up  to.  She 
imagined  the  most  frightful  things.  She  got  the  idea  into 
her  head  that  he  must  have  brought  a  corpse  home  and  was 
stowing  it  away  under  his  bedstead.  Well  1  the  newspapers 
had  related  something  of  the  kind — an  employe  of  the 
Burial  Service  had  gathered  together  at  home  the  corpses  of 
a  number  of  infants  in  their  coffins,  so  as  to  save  himself  the 
trouble  of  going  again  and  again  to  the  cemetery,  as  one 
journey  with  the  lot  would  be  sufficient. 

At  all  events  it  was  certain  that  directly  Bazouge  arrived 


MISERY  307 

home  a  smell  of  death  seemed  to  come  through  the  partition. 
One  might  have  thought  oneself  lodging  in  front  of  the  Pere 
Lachaise  cemetery  in  the  midst  of  the  kingdom  of  moles. 
He  was  frightful,  the  brute,  to  be  for  ever  laughing  by  himself 
as  if  his  profession  enUvened  him.  Even  when  he  had  finished 
his  rumpus  and  stretched  himself  on  his  back,  he  snored  in 
so  extraordinary  a  manner  that  the  laundress  would  gasp 
with  alarm.  For  hours  she  lent  ear  to  him,  imagining  that 
funeral  after  funeral  was  passing  with  a  chant  oiI)&  Fro- 
fundis  through  his  room. 

Yes,  the  worst  was  that,  in  spite  of  her  terrors,  something 
incited  Gervaise  tO'  put  her  ear  to  the  wall,  the  better  to 
ascertain  what  was  taking  place.  Bazouge  fascinated  her, 
repulsive  though  he  was.  He  seemed  hke  a  personification  of 
death  ;  and  if  fear  had  not  restrained  her,  she  would  have 
liked  to  just  touch  and  feel  death,  to  see  what  it  was  like. 
Holding  her  breath,  listening  attentively,  expecting  to  unravel 
death's  secret  by  the  aid  of  some  movement  made  by 
Bazouge,  she  became  at  times  so  peculiar  that  Coupeau 
would  ask  her  with  a  chuckle  if  she  were  smitten  with  the 
mute  next  door.  Thereupon  she  grew  angry,  and  talked 
of  moving,  as  the  close  proximity  of  this  neighbour  of  theirs 
was  so  repugnant  to  her ;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  herself,  as  soon 
as  the  old  fellow  came  home,  smelling  hke  a  cemetery,  she 
would  again  relapse  into  meditation.  Had  he  not  twice 
offered  to  pack  her  up,  and  carry  her  off  with  him  to  some 
place  where  sleep  is  so  enjoyable,  that  in  a  moment  one 
forgets  all  one's  wretchedness  ?  Perhaps  it  was  really  very 
pleasant.  And  little  by  little  a  temptation  to  taste  that  slumber 
grew  upon  Gervaise.  She  would  have  liked  to  try  it  for  a 
fortnight  or  a  month.  Oh  I  to  sleep  for  a  month,  especially 
in  winter,  the  month  when  the  rent  fell  due,  when  the 
troubles  of  life  were  overwhelming  I  But  it  was  not  possible 
— one  must  sleep  that  sleep  for  ever,  if  one  would  sleep  ii 
for  an  hour ;  and  the  thought  of  this  froze  her ;  her  desire 
for  death  departed  in  presence  of  the  stern,  eternal  attach- 
ment which  Mother  Earth  demands. 

However,  one  evening  in  January,  she  knocked  with  both 
her  fists  against  the  partition.  She  had  passed  a  frightful 
week,  hustled  by  every  one,  penniless,  and  utterly  discouraged. 
That  evening,  too,  she  was  not  at  all  well ;  she  shivered  with 
fever,  and  seemed  to  see  flames  dancing  before  her.  And  then, 
instead  of  throwing  herself  out  of  the  window,  as  she  had  at 

z2 


5o8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

one  moment  thought  of  doing,  she  set  to  knocking  and  calling  : 
Old  Bazouge  !  eh,  old  Bazouge  ! ' 

The  mute  was  taking  off  his  shoes  and  singing,  *  There 
were  three  lovely  girls.'  He  had  probably  had  a  good  day, 
for  he  seemed  even  more  maudhn  than  usual. 

*  Bazouge  I  eh,  old  Bazouge  1  *  repeated  Gervaise,  raising 
her  voice. 

Did  he  not  hear  her  then  ?  She  was  ready  to  give  herself 
at  once  ;  he  might  come  and  take  her  on  his  neck,  and  carry 
her  off  whithersoever  he  carried  the  other  women,  the  poor  and 
the  rich,  all  those  whom  he  consoled.  It  pained  her  to  hear 
his  song,  '  There  were  three  lovely  girls,'  because  she  discerned 
in  it  the  disdain  of  a  man  who  has  too  many  sweethearts. 

*  What  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  '  stuttered  Bazouge  at  last ;  *  who's 
unwell  ?    We're  coming,  little  woman  ! ' 

But  the  sound  of  his  husky  voice  awoke  Gervaise  as  though 
from  a  nightmare.  What  had  she  done  ?  she  must  have  been 
hammering  against  the  partition.  Then  she  felt  as  though 
she  had  received  a  heavy  blow  across  her  loins ;  fright  con- 
tracted every  muscle  of  her  body  and  she  drew  back,  fancying 
that  she  already  beheld  the  mute's  fat  hands  passing  through  the 
wall  to  clutch  her  by  the  hair.  No,  no,  she  would  not,  she  would 
not,  she  was  not  ready  yet.  If  she  had  knocked,  it  must  have 
been  with  her  elbow  in  turning  over,  without  being  aware  of  it. 
And  a  feeling  of  horror  ascended  to  her  shoulders  at  the  thought 
of  being  carried  away  for  ever,  all  stiff  and  white,  in  that  old 
feUow's  arms. 

*  Well !  is  there  no  one  there  now  ?  '  resumed  Bazouge  in 
the  silence.  *  Wait  a  bit,  we're  always  ready  to  oblige  the 
ladies.' 

*  It's  nothing,  nothing,  said  the  laundress  at  length  in  a 
choking  voice.     '  I  don't  require  anything,  thanks.' 

Whilst  the  mute  feU  asleep  grumbUng,  she  remained 
anxiously  listening,  without  daring  to  move  for  fear  he  might 
fancy  that  he  again  heard  her  knocking.  She  vowed  to  be 
very  careful  now.  She  might  be  dying,  she  would  certainly 
not  ask  her  neighbour  for  help.  And  this  she  vowed  in  order 
to  reassure  herself,  for  in  spite  of  her  fright  she  still  indulged 
at  times  in  her  horrible  fancy. 

In  that  abode  of  misery,  amidst  her  own  cares  and  the 
cares  of  others,  Gervaise  could  at  all  events  find  one  beautiful 
example  of  courage.  This  was  at  her  neighbours',  the  Bijards. 
Little  Lalie,  that  chit  of  eight,  hardly  bigger  than  a  pat  of 


MISERY  309 

butter,  looked  after  everything  and  kept  the  place  as  clean  as 
a  grown-up  person  could  have  done  ;  and  the  work  was  hard, 
for  she  had  charge  of  two  children,  her  brother  Jules  and  her 
sister  Henriette,  one  only  three  and  the  other  only  five  years 
old,  so  that  she  had  to  watch  over  them  all  day  long,  even 
whilst  sweeping  the  place  or  washing  up  the  crockery. 

Ever  since  Bijardhad  killed  his  wife  by  kicking  her,  Lalie  had 
become  the  little  mother  of  them  all.  Without  saying  a  word, 
and  of  her  own  accord,  she  had  taken  the  place  of  the  one  who 
had  gone,  to  such  an  extent  that  her  brute  of  a  father,  probably 
to  perfect  the  resemblance,  now  belaboured  the  daughter  even 
as  he  had  formerly  belaboured  the  mother.  Whenever  he 
came  home  drunk,  he  required  women  to  massacre.  He  did 
not  even  notice  that  Lalie  was  quite  little  ;  he  would  not  have 
beaten  an  old  hide  any  harder.  One  slap  of  his  hand  covered 
her  face ;  and  her  flesh  was  still  so  delicate  that  the  marks 
of  his  five  fingers  remained  there  for  a  couple  of  days.  There 
were  most  abominable  thrashings,  kicks  for  a  mere  '  Yes '  or  a 
*  No.'  It  was  Uke  a  mad  wolf  falling  on  a  poor,  timid,  coaxing 
kitten,  who  was  so  thin  that  the  mere  sight  of  her  might 
have  made  one  weep,  and  who  submitted  to  everything  with  a 
resigned  look  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  never  uttering  a  single  com- 
plaint. No,  Lalie  never  rebelled.  She  bent  her  neck  a  little 
to  protect  her  face,  and  she  restrained  her  cries,  so  as  not  to 
rouse  the  house.  And,  when  her  father  was  tired  of  kicking 
her  from  one  corner  of  the  room  to  another,  she  waited  tiU 
she  had  regained  sufficient  strength  to  pick  herself  up.  Then 
she  resumed  her  work,  washed  her  children,  made  the  soup, 
and  cleaned  up,  never  leaving  a  speck  of  dust  upon  the  furni- 
ture.    To  be  beaten  was  a  part  of  her  daily  duties. 

Gervaise  had  begun  to  feel  great  friendship  for  her  little 
neighbour.  She  treated  her  as  an  equal,  as  a  grown-up 
woman  of  experience.  It  must  be  said  that  Lalie  had  a  pale 
and  serious  look,  and  that  one  might  have  thought  her  thirty 
on  hearing  her  speak.  She  knew  very  well  how  to  bargain 
and  buy,  mend  clothes,  and  attend  to  home  duties,  and  she 
spoke  of  the  children  as  though  she  were  their  real  mother. 
It  made  people  smile  at  first  to  hear  her  talk  as  she  did  at 
eight  years  of  age  ;  but  then  a  lump  would  rise  in  their 
throats,  and  they  would  hurry  away  so  as  not  to  burst  into 
tears.  Gervaise  drew  the  child  towards  her  as  much  as  she 
could  and  gave  her  all  she  could  spare,  food  and  old  clothing. 
One  day  while  she  was  trying  one  of  Nana's  old  frocks  on  her, 


3IO  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

she  almost  choked  with  anger  on  finding  that  her  back  was 
covered  with  bruises,  that  her  elbow  had  its  skin  broken,  and 
was  still  bleeding,  that  all  her  innocent  flesh  clinging  to  her 
bones  bore  signs  of  martyrdom.  Ah  I  old  Bazouge  might  get 
his  box  ready ;  she  would  not  last  long  at  that  rate  I  But  the 
child  begged  the  laundress  not  to  say  a  word  about  it ;  she 
would  not  have  her  father  bothered  on  her  account ;  indeed, 
she  took  his  part,  declaring  that  he  would  never  have  been  so 
wicked  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  drink.  He  was  mad,  he  did 
not  know  what  he  did.  Oh !  she  forgave  him,  because  one 
ought  to  forgive  madmen  everything. 

Nevertheless,  from  that  time  forward  Gervaise  watched, 
and  tried  to  interfere  directly  she  heard  Bijard  coming  upstairs. 
However,  on  most  occasions  she  only  caught  some  whack  as 
a  reward  for  her  pains.  When  she  entered  the  Bijards'  room 
in  the  day-time,  she  often  found  Lalie  tied  to  the  foot  of  the 
iron  bedstead ;  it  was  an  idea  of  the  locksmith's,  who,  before 
going  out,  would  bind  her  round  the  legs  and  body  with  some 
stout  rope,  without  anyone  being  able  to  tell  why  he  did  it. 
Doubtless  it  was  a  mere  whim  of  his  drink-diseased  brain,  a 
scheme  for  tyrannising  over  the  child  even  when  he  was  no 
longer  there.  Lalie,  as  stiff  as  a  stake,  with  pins  and  needles 
in  her  legs,  remained  whole  days  tied  up  in  this  fashion.  She 
once  even  passed  a  night  without  being  released,  Bijard  having 
forgotten  to  come  home.  Whenever  Gervaise,  carried  away 
by  indignation,  talked  of  unfastening  her,  she  implored  her 
not  to  disturb  the  rope,  as  her  father  became  furious  if  he  did 
not  find  the  knots  tied  the  same  as  he  had  left  them.  And  it 
was  really  not  unpleasant,  it  rested  her,  she  would  say  with  a 
smile,  whilst  her  little  legs  all  the  time  remained  swollen  and 
lifeless.  What  grieved  her  was  that  she  could  not  do  the 
housework,  fastened  as  she  was  to  the  bedstead,  face  to  face 
with  all  the  disorder  of  the  home.  Her  father  ought  certainly 
to  have  invented  something  else.  All  the  same,  she  kept 
watch  over  her  children,  made  them  obey  her,  and  called 
Henriette  and  Jules  to  her  to  have  their  noses  wiped.  As  her 
hands  remained  free  she  knitted  whilst  waiting  to  be  delivered, 
so  as  not  to  waste  her  time  entirely.  Her  greatest  sufferings 
came  when  Bijard  untied  her.  For  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour 
she  would  crawl  about  the  floor  unable  to  stand  up,  because 
her  blood  no  longer  circulated. 

The  locksmith  had  also  thought  of  another  little  game. 
He  heated  some  sous  in  the  frying-pan,  placed  them  oil  a 


MISERY  311 

comer  of  the  mantel-piece,  and  called  Lalie,  and  told  her  to 
fetch  a  couple  of  pounds  of  bread.  The  child  took  up  the  coins 
unsuspectingly,  raised  a  cry,  and  threw  them  on  the  floor, 
shaking  her  burnt  hand.  Then  he  flew  into  a  fury.  Who 
had  saddled  him  with  such  carrion?  She  lost  the  money 
now  1  And  he  threatened  to  beat  her  to  a  jelly  if  she  did  not 
pick  up  the  sous  at  once.  When  the  child  hesitated  she 
received  as  a  first  warning  a  clout  of  such  violence  that  all 
danced  before  her.  Then,  speechless,  and  with  big  tears  in 
the  corners  of  her  eyes,  she  would  pick  up  the  coppers  and  go 
off,  tossing  them  in  the  palm  of  her  hand  to  cool  them. 

No,  one  can  hardly  imagine  what  ferocious  ideas  may 
sprout  from  the  depths  of  a  drunkard's  brain.  One  afternoon, 
for  instance,  Lalie,  having  made  everything  tidy,  was  playing 
with  her  children.  The  window  was  open,  there  was  a  draught, 
and  every  now  and  again  the  wind  blowing  along  the  passage 
gently  shook  the  door. 

*  It's  Monsieur  Hardy,*  the  child  was  saying.  *  Come  in, 
Monsieur  Hardy.     Pray  have  the  kindness  to  walk  in.' 

Then  she  curtsied  before  the  door,  and  bowed  to  the  wind. 
Henriette  and  Jules,  just  behind  her,  also  bowed,  delighted 
with  the  game,  and  laughing  as  much  as  if  they  were  being 
tickled.  She  became  quite  rosy  at  seeing  them  so  heartily 
amused,  and  even  found  some  pleasure  in  it  on  her  own 
account,  though  as  a  rule  pleasure  only  befell  her  on  the  thirty- 
sixth  day  of  each  month. 

'  Good-day,  Monsieur  Hardy.  How  do  you  do.  Monsieur 
Hardy  ?  '  she  repeated. 

But  a  rough  hand  suddenly  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
Bijard  entered.  Then  the  scene  changed.  Henriette  and 
Jules  fell  down  flat  against  the  wall ;  whilst  Lalie,  terrified, 
remained  in  the  very  middle  of  a  curtsey.  The  locksmith 
held  in  his  hand  a  big  waggoner's  whip,  quite  new,  with  a 
long  white  wooden  handle,  and  a  leather  thong,  terminating 
with  a  bit  of  fine  whip -cord.  He  placed  his  whip  in  the 
corner  by  the  bed,  and  did  not  give  his  usual  kick  to  the 
child,  who  was  already  preparing  herself  for  it.  A  chuckle  dis- 
closed his  blackened  teeth,  and  he  was  very  lively,  very  drunk, 
his  face  illumined  by  some  idea  that  amused  him  immensely. 

*  Ah  1 '  said  he,  *  you've  been  playing  a  nice  game  you  young 
hussy  1  I  could  hear  you  dancing  about  from  downstairs. 
Now  then,  come  here  1  Nearer,  curse  you  1  and  full  face.  Ana 
I  touching  you,  that  you  tremble  like  that  ?  Take  my  shoes  off.' 


312  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

Lalie  turned  quite  pale  again,  and,  amazed  at  not  re- 
ceiving her  usual  drubbing,  duly  took  his  shoes  off.  He  had 
seated  himself  or  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  now  lay  down  on 
it  with  his  clothes  on,  watching  the  child  move  about  the 
room.  She  busied  herself  with  one  thing  and  another, 
gradually  bewildered  by  his  glance,  her  limbs  quaking  with 
such  fright,  that  she  ended  by  breaking  a  cup.  Then,  with- 
out disturbing  himself,  he  took  hold  of  the  whip  and  showed 
it  to  her. 

*  I  say,  you  little  calf,  look  at  this.  It's  a  present  for  you. 
Yes,  it's  another  fifty  sous  you've  cost  me.  With  this  little 
toy  I  shall  no  longer  have  to  run  after  you,  and  it'll  be  no 
use  for  you  to  get  into  the  corners.  Will  you  have  a  try  ? 
Ah  1  you  break  cups,  do  you  ?  Now  then,  gee  up  1  Dance 
away,  make  your  curtsies  to  Monsieur  Hardy  I ' 

He  did  not  even  raise  himself,  but  still  sprawling  on  his 
back  with  his  head  resting  on  his  pillow,  he  made  the  big 
whip  crack  about  the  room  as  noisily  as  might  a  postillion 
starting  his  horses.  Then  lowering  his  arm,  he  lashed  Lalie 
round  the  middle  of  the  body,  encircling  her  with  the  whip, 
and  then  unwinding  it  as  though  she  were  a  top.  She  fell, 
and  tried  to  escape  on  all  fours  ;  but  with  another  lash  he 
set  her  once  more  upon  her  feet. 

'  Gee  up,  gee  up  I  '  he  yelled.  *  It*s  the  donkey  race ! 
Eh  !  this  will  be  fine  of  a  morning  in  winter.  I  can  lie  snug 
without  getting  cold  or  hurting  my  chilblains,  and  still  catch 
the  calves  from  a  distance.  Ah  !  you  get  in  that  corner,  well 
there's  a  hit,  you  hussy  1  And  in  that  other  corner,  eh? 
Well,  there's  a  hit  again !  And  in  that  one,  another  hit. 
Ah  1  if  you  crawl  under  the  bed  I'll  whack  you  with  the 
handle.     Gee  up,  you  jade  !  gee  up  !  gee  up  ! ' 

A  slight  foam  was  coming  to  his  lips,  and  his  yellow  eyes 
were  starting  from  their  black  orbits.  Lalie,  maddened, 
howling,  jumped  in  turn  to  the  four  corners  of  the  room, 
curled  herself  up  on  the  floor,  and  clung  to  the  walls  ;  but 
the  lash  at  the  end  of  the  big  whip  caught  her  no  matter  where 
she  went,  cracking  near  her  ears  with  a  report  as  of  fireworks, 
and  streaking  her  flesh  with  burning  wheals.  It  was  such 
a  dance  as  an  animal  is  led  when  being  taught  its  tricks  for 
the  stage.  The  poor  little  kitten  waltzed.  It  was  a  sight  to 
see  her  with  her  heels  in  the  air  Uke  a  girl  playing  at  skipping, 
and  crying  *  Vinegar  ! '  She  was  all  out  of  breath,  rebound> 
ing  hither  and  thither  like  an  india-rubber  ball,  letting  herself 


MISERY  313 

be  beaten,  unable  to  see,  or  any  longer  to  seek  a  refuge.  And 
her  wolfish  father  triumphed,  calling  her  ne'er-do-well,  asking 
her  if  she  had  had  enough,  and  whether  she  now  understood 
sufficiently  that  she  must  give  up  all  hope  of  escaping  from 
him. 

But  Gervaise  suddenly  entered  the  room,  attracted  by  the 
child's  howls.  On  beholding  such  a  scene  she  was  seized 
with  furious  indignation.  *  Ah  !  the  brute  of  a  man  1  '  cried 
she.  *  Leave  her  alone,  you  brigand !  I'll  go  and  denounce 
you  to  the  police.' 

Bijard  growled  like  an  animal  who  is  disturbed,  and 
stuttered,  *  I  say,  Limper,  just  mind  your  own  business. 
Perhaps  you'd  like  me  to  put  gloves  on  when  I  stir  her  up. 
It's  merely  to  warn  her,  as  you  can  see — simply  to  show  her 
that  I've  a  long  arm.' 

And  he  gave  Lalie  a  final  lash  with  the  whip  which  caught 
her  across  the  face.  Her  upper  Up  was  cut,  and  the  blood 
flowed.  Gervaise  seized  a  chair,  and  was  about  to  fall  on 
the  locksmith  ;  but  the  child  held  her  hands  towards  her  im- 
ploringly, saying  that  it  was  nothing,  that  it  was  all  over. 
And  she  wiped  away  the  blood  with  a  corner  of  her  apron, 
and  quieted  her  children,  who  were  sobbing  bitterly  as  though 
they  themselves  had  received  all  the  blows. ^ 

Whenever  Gervaise  thought  of  Lalie,  she  no  longer  dared 
to  complain  of  her  own  lot.  She  would  have  liked  to  possess 
the  courage  of  that  chit  of  eight,  who  endured  as  much  as  all 
the  other  women  of  that  staircase  put  together.  She  had 
seen  her  living  on  nothing  but  dry  bread  for  three  months, 
not  even  eating  crusts  enough  to  satisfy  her  hunger,  and  so 
thin  and  weak  that  she  had  to  cling  to  the  walls  when  moving 
about ;  and  whenever  she  stealthily  took  her  any  bits  of  meat 
that  she  had  left,  she  felt  her  heart  melt  as  she  watched  her 
eat,  shedding  big  silent  tears  the  while,  and  swallowing  but 
very  tiny  pieces,  as  food  could  now  scarcely  pass  down 
her  contracted  throat.  Always  tender  and  devoted  in  spite  of 
everything,  reasonable  beyond  her  years,  she  performed  her 
duties  as  little  mother  to  such  a  point  that  she  was  dying  of 
precocious  maternity.     And  Gervaise  took  an  example  from 

*  That  the  horrible  brutality  of  Bijard  is  no  exaggeration  may  be 
shown  by  many  a  reference  to  judicial  proceedings  both  in  France  and 
England  even  during  the  year  of  grace  1897.  And  for  one  such  scoun- 
drel who  is  caught  and  more  or  less  adequately  punished,  how  many 
remain  undetected  and  altogether  escape  the  penalty  of  the  law 


314  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

this  dear  creature,  who  was  all  suffering  and  all  forgiveness ; 
and  tried  to  learn  from  her  how  to  conceal  one's  martyrdom. 
Lalie  only  showed  her  feelings  by  her  silent  look,  her  big, 
black,  resigned  eyes,  in  whose  depths  one  could  divine  a  night 
of  agony  and  misery.  Never  a  word  came  from  her,  only 
her  big  black  dilated  eyes  proclaimed  the  truth. 

And  now  the  *  vitriol '  of  the  *  Assommoir '  was  also  com- 
mencing to  ravage  the  Coupeaus'  home.  The  laundress  could 
divine  the  hour  approaching  when  her  husband  would,  like 
Bijard,  take  a  whip  to  lead  the  dance  ;  and  the  misfortune 
which  threatened  her,  naturally  rendered  her  more  sensitive 
to  the  sufferings  of  the  child.  Yes,  Coupeau  was  on  a  bad 
tack.  The  time  was  past  when  ardent  spirits  had  given  him 
a  colour.  He  could  no  longer  slap  his  body  and  strut  about, 
saying  that  the  stuff  fattened  him,  for  the  bad  yellow  fat  of 
the  first  years  had  melted  away,  and  he  was  drying  up,  with 
a  leaden  hue  variegated  with  green,  like  a  corpse  rotting  in 
a  pond.  His  appetite  also  had  now  quite  gone.  Little  by 
little  he  had  lost  all  taste  for  bread,  and  had  even  reached 
such  a  point  that  he  spurned  meat.  One  might  have  placed 
the  most  delicious  stew  before  him,  his  stomach  would  have 
none  of  it,  his  weakened  teeth  refused  to  chew.  To  keep 
himself  *  going '  he  required  his  pint  of  brandy  every  day. 
It  was  his  ration,  both  his  meat  and  drink,  the  only  food  he 
could  digest.  In  the  morniiig,  directly  he  jumped  out  of  bed, 
he  remained  for  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour  doubled  up, 
coughing  and  cracking  his  bones,  holding  his  head  and  trying 
to  get  rid  of  the  phlegm,  bitter  as  gall,  which  was  in  his 
throat.  And  he  never  felt  steady  on  his  pins  till  he  had 
drunk  his  first  glass  of  '  consolation,'  a  real  remedy  said  he, 
the  fire  of  which  cauterised  him  internally.  Then  during 
the  day,  his  strength  returned.  At  first,  as  alcohol  continued 
its  work,  he  had  felt  a  tickling  sensation,  something  like  pins- 
and-needles  in  his  hands  and  feet;  and  he  would  joke  about 
it,  relating  that  some  one  was  having  a  lark  with  him,  that 
he  was  sure  his  wife  slipped  horse-hair  between  the  sheets. 
Then,  however,  his  legs  became  heavy,  the  tickling  sensation 
finished  by  turning  into  a  most  abominable  cramp,  which 
gripped  his  flesh  like  a  vice.  This  did  not  amuse  him  nearly 
so  much.  He  no  longer  laughed,  but  stopped  short  on  the 
pavement  in  a  bewildered  way,  with  a  singing  in  his  ears, 
and  sparks  blazing  before  his  eyes.  Everything  seemed  to 
him  yellow,  the  houses  danced,  and  he  reeled  about  for  three 


MISERY  315 

Beconds  or  bo,  with  the  fear  of  suddenly  finding  himself 
sprawling  on  the  ground.  At  other  times,  while  the  sun  was 
shining  full  on  his  back,  he  would  shiver,  as  though  some 
iced  water  had  been  poured  down  his  shoulders.  What 
bothered  him  the  most  was  a  slight  trembling  of  both  hands  ; 
the  right  hand  in  particular  must  have  been  guilty  of  some  great 
crime,  for  it  suffered  from  so  many  nightmares.  Curse  it  I 
quoth  he,  was  he  no  longer  a  man  then  ?  Was  he  becoming  an 
old  woman?  And  then  he  furiously  strained  his  muscles, 
caught  hold  of  his  glass  and  wagered  that  he  would  hold  it 
perfectly  steady,  as  with  a  hand  of  marble ;  but,  in  spite  of 
his  efforts,  the  glass  still  danced  about,  jumped  to  the  right, 
jumped  to  the  left,  with  a  hasty  but  regular  quivering 
movement.  Then,  in  a  fury,  Coupeau  emptied  it  into  his 
gullet,  yelling  that  he  would  require  dozens  like  it,  and  would 
afterwards  imdertake  to  carry  a  cask  without  so  much  as 
moving  a  finger.  Gervaise,  on  the  other  hand,  told  him  to 
give  up  drink,  if  he  wished  to  stop  the  trembling ;  but  he 
laughed  at  her,  emptying  quarts  until  he  began  the  experi- 
ment again,  when  he  would  fly  into  a  rage,  and  accuse  the 
passing  omnibuses  of  shaking  the  liquor. 

One  evening  during  the  month  of  March,  Coupeau 
returned  home  soaked  to  the  bones.  He  had  come  with  My- 
Boots  from  Montrouge,  where  they  had  stuffed  themselves 
with  eel  soup,  and  the  rain  had  fallen  on  him  all  the  way 
from  the  Barri^re  des  Fourneaux  to  the  Barri^re  Poissonniere, 
a  good  long  stride.  During  the  night  a  bad  cough  came  on 
him  ;  he  got  very  flushed,  suffered  from  violent  fever,  and  lay 
panting  like  a  pair  of  broken  bellows.  When  the  Boches' 
doctor  saw  him  in  the  morning,  and  sounded  him  in  the  back, 
he  shook  his  head,  and  drew  Gervaise  aside  to  advise  her  to 
Bend  him  at  once  to  the  hospital.  It  was  a  case  of  inflamma- 
tion of  the  lungs. 

Gervaise  evinced  no  anger  at  the  suggestion.  That  was 
but  natural.  At  one  time  she  would  rather  have  let  herself 
be  chopped  to  pieces  than  have  trusted  her  man  to  the  saw- 
bones. After  the  accident  in  the  Rue  de  la  Nation,  she  had 
spent  their  savings  in  nursing  him.  But  those  beautiful 
sentiments  don't  last  when  men  take  to  wallowing  in  the 
mire.  No,  no,  she  did  not  intend  to  plague  herself  like  that 
again.  They  might  take  him  and  never  bring  him  back,  she 
would  thank  them  heartily,  she  muttered  to  herself.  Yet, 
when  the  litter  arrived,  and  Coupeau  was  put  into  it  Uke  an 


3i6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

article  of  furniture,  she  became  quite  pale  and  bit  her  lipa ; 
and  though  she  grumbled  and  still  said  that  it  was  a  good 
job,  her  heart  was  no  longer  in  her  words.  If  she  had  only 
had  ten  francs  in  her  drawer  she  would  not  have  let  him  go. 

She  accompanied  him  to  the  Lariboisiere  hospital,  and  saw 
the  attendants  put  him  to  bed  at  the  end  of  a  long  ward, 
where  the  patients,  looking  like  corpses,  raised  themselves 
one  after  the  other  to  gaze  at  the  comrade  who  had  just  been 
brought  in.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  death  hanging  about 
there,  a  suffocating  odour  of  fever,  and  a  consumptive  music 
sufficient  to  affect  one's  own  lungs  ;  without  counting  the  fact 
that  the  ward  looked  like  a  Pere-Lachaise  cemetery  on  a 
small  scale,  with  all  its  white  beds  forming  an  alley  of  tomb- 
stones. Then,  as  Coupeau  remained  flat  on  his  pillow, 
Gervaise  went  off,  not  finding  a  word  to  say,  and  having 
nothing,  unfortunately,  in  her  pocket  to  ease  him.  Outside, 
however,  in  front  of  the  hospital,  she  turned  round  and  gave 
a  last  glance  at  the  edifice.  And  she  thought  of  former  days, 
when  Coupeau,  perched  up  yonder  at  the  edge  of  the  guttering, 
had  laid  his  sheets  of  zinc  whilst  singing  in  the  sunshine. 
Ah  1  he  hadn't  been  a  drunkard  then  !  His  skin  had  been  as 
soft  as  a  girl's.  She,  from  her  window  at  the  Hotel  Boncoeur, 
sought  for  him,  and  recognised  him  right  aloft  amidst  the 
very  sky  ;  and  they  both  waved  their  handkerchiefs,  sending 
one  another  smiles  and  kisses  by  telegraph.  Yes,  Coupeau 
had  worked  up  there,  and  without  the  faintest  idea  that  he 
was  working  for  himself.  Now  he  was  no  longer  on  the  roof 
like  a  jovial  sparrow.  He  was  under  it,  he  had  built  his  nest 
in  the  hospital,  and  had  come  thwe  to  croak,  with  his  soft 
skin  now  turned  to  a  rough  hide !  Ah  I  how  far,  far  away 
had  the  happy  days  of  courtship  flown  I 

Two  days  later,  when  Gervaise  called  for  news  of 
Coupeau,  she  found  the  bed  empty.  A  sister  of  charity  told 
her  that  it  had  been  necessary  to  remove  her  husband  to  the 
Asylum  of  Sainte-Anne,  as  on  the  previous  day  he  had 
suddenly  gone  wild.  Oh  1  a  total  leave  taking  of  his  senses, 
with  attempts  to  crack  his  skull  against  the  wall,  and  howls 
which  prevented  the  other  patients  from  sleeping.  It  all 
came  from  drink,  it  seemed.  As  soon  as  pneumonia  had 
laid  him  strengthless  on  his  back,  the  drink,  which  had  been 
brewing  within  him,  had  taken  advantage  of  the  opportunity 
to  make  its  onslaught  and  wring  his  nerves.  The  laundress 
returned  home  in  a  state  of  distraction.     So  her  old  man  had 


MISERY  317 

gone  mad  now  I  Life  "would  become  precious  queer  if  they 
should  let  him  out.  Nana  exclaimed  that  he  ought  to  be  left 
where  he  was,  as  otherwise  he  would  end  by  murdering 
them  both. 

Gervaise  was  not  able  to  go  to  Sainte-Anne  until  the 
Sunday.  It  was  a  tremendous  journey.  Fortunately,  the 
omnibus  from  the  Boulevard  Rochechouart  to  La  Glaciere 
passed  close  to  the  asylum.  On  her  way  down  the  Rue  de  la 
Sant6,  she  bought  two  oranges,  so  as  not  to  arrive  empty- 
handed.  The  Asylum  was  another  monumental  building, 
with  grey  courtyards,  interminable  corridors,  and  a  smell  of 
medicaments,  which  scarcely  inspired  liveliness.  But  when 
Gervaise  had  been  admitted  into  a  cell,  she  was  quite  sur- 
prised to  find  Coupeau  almost  jolly. 

*  And  the  lungs  ?  '  inquired  the  laundress. 

*  Fine  I  *  replied  he.  *  They  cured  them  in  no  time.  I 
still  cough  a  little,  but  it's  only  the  fag  end  of  it.* 

Then  they  laughed,  gay  at  heart  in  spite  of  everything. 
And  when  Gervaise  gave  Coupeau  the  two  oranges,  he  was 
quite  moved.  He  was  becoming  as  nice  as  ever  again  now 
that  he  was  only  allowed  to  imbibe  herb  drink,  and  was  kept 
away  from  the  dram-shops.  So  Gervaise,  surprised  to  hear 
him  reason  as  in  the  old  times,  at  last  ventured  to  speak  to 
him  about  the  crack  in  his  nut. 

'  Ah,  yes,'  said  he,  joking  at  his  own  expense ;  *  I  talked  a 
precious  lot  of  nonsense  1  Just  fancy,  I  saw  rats,  and  ran 
about  on  all  fours  to  put  a  grain  of  salt  on  their  tails.  And 
you,  you  called  me,  for  some  fellows  were  trying  to  kill  you. 
In  short,  all  sorts  of  stupid  things,  ghosts  in  broad  daylight. 
Oh  I  I  remember  it  very  well,  my  pate's  still  solid.  It's  all 
over  now,  however  ;  I  dream  a  bit  when  I'm  asleep,  I  have 
nightmares,  you  know,  but  everyone  has  nightmares.' 

Gervaise  remained  with  him  until  the  evening.  When 
the  house  surgeon  came,  at  the  six  o'clock  inspection,  he 
made  him  spread  out  his  hands  ;  they  hardly  trembled  at  all, 
there  was  scarcely  a  quiver  at  the  finger-tips.  However,  as 
night  approached,  Coupeau  slowly  grew  uneasy.  He  twice 
sat  up  in  bed,  looking  at  the  floor  or  peering  into  the  dark 
corners  of  the  room.  And  suddenly  he  thrust  out  an  arm, 
as  if  to  crush  some  animal  against  the  wall. 

*  What  is  it  ?  '  asked  Gervaise  feeling  frightened. 

*  The  rats  !  the  rats  1  *  he  murmured. 

Then,  after  a  pause,  gliding  into  sleep,  he  tossed  about. 


3i8  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

uttering  disconnected  phrases.  *  Dash  it  I  they're  tearing 
my  skin  I — Oh  !  the  filthy  beasts  I — Keep  steady  !  Gervaise  I 
beware  of  the  bloke  behind  you  1 — Jove's  thunder !  she's 
down,  and  the  scoundrels  laugh  I — Scoundrels  !  blackguards  1 
brigands  1 ' 

As  he  spoke  he  dealt  blows  at  space,  caught  hold  of  his 
blanket,  and  rolled  it  into  a  bundle  against  his  chest,  as 
though  to  protect  the  latter  from  the  bearded  men  he  beheld. 
Then,  as  an  attendant  hastened  to  the  cell,  Gervaise  with- 
drew, quite  frozen  by  the  scene.  However,  when  she 
returned,  a  few  days  later,  she  found  Coupeau  completely 
cured.  Even  the  nightmares  had  left  him  ;  he  could  sleep 
his  ten  hours  right  off  as  peacefully  as  a  child  and  without 
stirring  a  limb.  So  his  wife  was  allowed  to  take  him  away. 
Only,  the  house  surgeon  gave  him  the  usual  good  advice  on 
leaving,  and  urged  him  to  follow  it.  If  he  lapsed  into  his 
drinking  habits,  he  would  be  taken  ill  again,  and  would  end 
by  croaking.  Yes,  it  solely  depended  upon  himself.  He  had 
seen  how  jolly  and  nice  one  could  become,  when  one  didn't 
get  drunk.  Well,  he  must  lead  at  home  the  same  sensible 
life  as  he  had  led  at  Sainte-Anne,  fancy  himself  under  lock 
and  key,  and  imagine  that  all  the  dram-shops  had  ceased  to 
exist. 

*  The  gentleman's  right,*  said  Gervaise  in  the  omnibus 
which  was  taking  them  back  to  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or. 

*  Of  course,  he's  right,*  replied  Coupeau.  Then  after 
pondering  for  a  minute,  he  resumed :  *  Oh  1  you  know  a 
little  glass  now  and  again  can't  kill  a  man ;  it  helps 
digestion.' 

And  that  very  evening  he  swallowed  a  glass  of  bad  spirits, 
just  to  keep  his  stomach  in  order.  Still  for  eight  days  or  so 
he  was  pretty  reasonable.  He  was  a  great  coward  at  heart, 
and  had  no  desire  to  end  his  days  in  the  Bicetre  mad-house, 
but  his  passion  got  the  better  of  him ;  the  first  little  glass 
led  him,  despite  himself,  to  a  second  one,  a  third  one,  and  a 
fourth  one  ;  and  by  the  end  of  a  fortnight  he  had  got  back  to 
his  old  ration,  a  pint  of  '  vitriol  *  a  day.  Gervaise  was  so  ex- 
asperated, that  she  could  have  beaten  him.  To  think  that 
on  seeing  him  so  sensible  at  the  asylum,  she  had  been  stupid 
enough  to  indulge  once  more  in  the  dream  of  an  upright  life. 
Ah  !  another  hour  of  joy  had  flown  away,  no  doubt  the  last. 
And  now,  as  nothing  could  reclaim  him,  not  even  the  fear 
of  his   near  end,  she  swore    she    would    no   longer    put 


MISERY  319 

herself  out ;  their  life  might  be  all  sixes  and  sevens,  she  did 
not  care  a  hang  :  she  also  would  take  her  ease  wherever  she 
might  i5nd  it. 

Then  there  was  hell  upon  earth  once  more ;  they  sank 
yet  deeper  into  the  mire,  without  a  gleam  of  any  hope  in  a 
better  season.  Nana,  whenever  her  father  clouted  her,  would 
inquire  in  a  fury  why  the  brute  had  not  remained  at  the 
hospital.  She  longed  to  be  able  to  earn  some  money,  said 
she,  so  as  to  ply  him  with  brandy  and  make  him  croak  the 
quicker.  Gervaise,  on  her  side,  flew  into  a  terrible  passion 
one  day  when  Coupeau  began  to  regret  their  marriage.  Ah  I 
she  had  been  a  cast-off  woman,  had  she  I  Ah  I  he  had  picked 
her  off  the  pavement,  had  he  I  She  had  trapped  him  by  her 
wheedling  ways  I  What  impudence  1  Every  word  he  said 
was  a  lie  I  She  had  never  wanted  him  ;  she  had  done  her 
utmost  to  get  rid  of  him.  But  he  had  dragged  himself  at 
her  feet  imploringly  whilst  she  was  advising  him  to  look 
before  he  leapt.  Ah  I  if  it  were  all  to  happen  over  again, 
she  would  say  no,  and  stick  to  it.  She  would  sooner  have  an 
arm  cut  off  than  take  him.  No  doubt  she  had  been  another 
man's  mistress  before  marrying  him,  but  allowing  for  all  that, 
when  a  woman  was  a  worker  she  was  worth  far  more  than  a 
slothful  beggar  who  sullied  his  honour  and  that  of  his  family  in 
every  dram-shop  he  came  to.  That  day,  for  the  first  time, 
the  Coupeaus  had  a  regular  set-to,  and  whacked  one  another 
so  furiously  that  an  old  umbrella  and  a  broom  were 
broken. 

And  Gervaise  kept  her  word.  She  sank  lower  and  lower ; 
she  stayed  more  and  more  frequently  away  from  work,  spent 
whole  days  in  gossiping,  and  became  as  limp  as  a  rag  whenever 
she  had  a  task  to  perform.  If  anything  fell  from  her  hands, 
it  might  remain  on  the  floor;  it  was  certainly  not  she 
who  would  have  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  She  took  her 
ease  about  everything,  and  never  handled  a  broom  except 
when  the  accumulation  of  filth  almost  brought  her  to  the 
ground.  The  Lorilleux  now  made  a  point  of  holding  their 
noses  whenever  they  passed  her  room ;  the  stench  was 
poisonous,  they  said.  They,  for  their  part,  led  a  sly  hidden 
life  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  keeping  apart  from  all  the 
wretchedness  which  whined  in  that  corner  of  the  house,  and 
often  locking  themselves  in  so  as  to  avoid  all  applications  for 
petty  loans.  Ah  I  they  were  kind-hearted  folks,  obliging 
neighbours,  and  no  mistake.    One  had  only  to  knock  and  ask 


320  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

for  a  light,  or  a  pinch  of  salt,  or  a  jug  of  water,  and  at  once  the 
door  was  banged  in  one's  face.  And  besides  they  had  such 
vipers'  tongues.  Whenever  any  question  of  neighbourly 
assistance  arose  they  declared  that  they  never  occupied 
themselves  with  other  people's  affairs,  yet  they  did  so  from 
morning  to  night  if  they  had  a  chance  of  pulling  anybody  to 
pieces.  With  the  door  bolted  and  a  rug  hung  up  to  screen 
the  chinks  and  the  key-hole,  they  would  regale  themselves 
with  no  end  of  spiteful  gossip,  without  for  a  moment  ceasing 
to  work  at  their  gold  wire. 

The  fall  of  the  Hobbler  in  particular  made  them  purr 
with  pleasure  all  day  long.  What  poverty,  what  a  tumble 
was  hers  I  They  watched  her  when  she  went  marketing, 
and  laughed  to  themselves  at  the  little  bit  of  bread  which 
she  brought  back  under  her  apron.  They  calculated  the 
days  when  she  could  have  only  the  empty  cupboard  to  look 
at.  They  knew  how  thick  the  dust  lay  in  her  home,  how 
many  dirty  plates  were  left  lying  about ;  they  were  acquain- 
ted with  each  sign  of  the  growing  neglect  which  comes  in 
the  train  of  misery  and  idleness.  And  her  dresses  too,  disgust- 
ing tatters  which  no  rag-picker  even  would  have  handled! 
Ah !  she  was  nicely  rigged  out  nowadays  was  that  beautiful 
blonde,  that  good-for-nothing  wench  who  had  once  given 
herself  such  airs  in  her  lovely  blue  shop.  And  it  was  to  this 
that  the  love  of  finery  and  guttling  brought  one  ! 

Gervaise,  who  had  an  idea  of  the  way  in  which  they 
spoke  of  her,  would  at  first  take  her  shoes  off,  and  apply 
her  ear  to  their  door ;  but  the  rug  prevented  her  from  hear- 
ing. She  only  caught  them  one  day  calling  her  *  Puffy,'  on 
account,  no  doubt,  of  the  circumstance  that  her  figure  re- 
mained a  full  one,  in  spite  of  the  semi-starvation  which  was 
emptying  her  skin.  However,  it  didn't  matter — she  was 
heartily  sick  of  them.  Just  to  avoid  remarks  she  con- 
tinued speaking  to  them,  though  she  could  expect  nothing 
but  unpleasantness  from  such  horrid  creatures.  Still  she  no 
longer  had  strength  enough  to  give  them  back  as  much 
\^  they  gave  her.  And  besides,  what  did  she  care  ?  She 
merely  wanted  her  own  ease — to  sit  in  a  heap,  and  twirl 
her  thumbs,  and  only  stir  when  it  was  a  question  of  some 
amusement. 

One  Saturday  Coupeau  had  promised  to  take  her  to  the 
circus.  To  see  ladies  galloping  along  on  horses  and  jump- 
ing through  paper  hoops — that,  at  all  events,  was  something 


MISERY  321 

for  which  one  might  well  disturb  oneself.  Coupeau  as  it 
happened  had  just  worked  for  a  fortnight  right  off,  so 
he  could  well  spare  a  couple  of  francs.  They  had  also 
arranged  to  have  a  bite  together  at  some  eating-house,  for 
Nana  had  to  work  till  very  late  that  evening  at  her  employer's 
on  account  of  some  pressing  order.  But  at  seven  o'clock 
there  was  no  Coupeau ;  and  at  eight  o'clock  he  had  still  not 
returned.  Gervaise  was  furious.  Her  drunkard  was  cer- 
tainly squandering  his  earnings  with  his  mates  in  the  dram- 
shops of  the  neighbourhood.  She  had  washed  a  cap,  and 
had  been  slaving  since  the  morning  over  the  holes  of  an  old 
dress,  for  she  wished  to  look  decent.  At  last,  towards  nine 
o'clock,  with  her  stomach  empty  and  her  face  purple  with 
rage,  she  decided  to  go  down  and  hunt  up  Coupeau. 

*  Is  it  your  husband  you  want  ? '  called  Madame  Boche, 
seeing  how  furious  she  looked.  '  He's  at  old  Colombe's. 
Boche  has  just  been  having  some  cherry  brandy  with  him.' 

Gervaise  thanked  the  doorkeeper,  and  stalked  stiffly  along 
the  pavement  with  the  determination  of  flying  at  Coupeau's 
eyes.  Some  fine  rain  was  falling  which  made  her  walk  still 
more  unpleasant.  However,  when  she  reached  the  *  Assom- 
moir,'  a  fear  of  receiving  the  drubbing  herself,  should  she 
badger  her  old  man,  suddenly  calmed  her  and  made  her 
prudent.  The  shop  was  ablaze,  the  gas  all  alight,  its  flames 
as  brilliant  as  suns,  while  the  bottles  and  jars  illumined  the 
walls  with  their  various  colours.  Gervaise  remained  there 
for  an  instant,  stretching  her  neck,  her  eyes  close  to  the 
window,  peering  between  two  bottles  placed  there  for  show. 
She  could  see  Coupeau  right  at  the  back  ;  he  sat  with  some 
mates  of  his  at  a  little  zinc  table.  They  all  looked  vague 
and  blue  in  the  tobacco  smoke  curling  around  them ;  and,  as 
one  could  not  hear  their  voices,  it  seemed  funny  to  see  them 
gesticulating,  with  chins  thrust  forward  and  eyes  starting  out 
of  their  heads.  Good  heavens  !  was  it  really  possible  that 
men  could  leave  their  wives  and  their  homes  to  shut  them- 
selves up  in  a  den  hke  that  where  they  were  fairly  choking  ? 

The  rain  was  trickling  down  Gervaise's  neck  ;  she  drew 
herself  up,  and  went  off  along  the  outer  Boulevard,  wrapt  in 
thought  and  not  daring  to  enter.  Ah  well !  Coupeau  would 
have  welcomed  her  in  a  pleasant  way,  he  who  objected  to  be 
spied  upon  !  Besides,  it  scarcely  seemed  to  her  the  proper 
place  for  a  respectable  woman.  However,  beneath  the  wet 
trees,  a  slight  shiver  passed  through  her  frame,  and  still 

Y 


322  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

hesitating,  she  began  to  think  that  she  was  going  the  right 
way  to  catch  some  serious  illness.  Then  twice  she  retraced 
her  steps  and  stood  before  the  shop  window,  close  to  the 
glass,  annoyed  at  seeing  those  beastly  drunkards  so  cosily 
gathered  together  out  of  the  rain,  and  still  yelling  and  drinking. 
The  lights  of  the  *  Assommoir '  were  reflected  in  the  puddles 
which  gently  bubbled  beneath  the  downpour,  and  Gervaise 
hurried  off  and  floundered  about  in  them,  as  soon  as  ever  the 
door  opened  and  closed  with  the  clang  of  its  brass  facings.  At 
length  she  thought  she  was  really  too  foolish,  and  pushing  the 
door  open,  she  walked  straight  up  to  the  table  where  Coupeau 
was  seated.  After  all,  it  was  her  husband  that  she  came  for, 
and  she  had  a  right  to  do  so,  for  he  had  promised  to  take  her  to 
the  circus  that  evening.  And  if  he  shouldn't  like  it,  well,  so 
much  the  worse.  She  had  no  desire  to  melt  away  like  a  cake 
of  soap  on  the  pavement. 

*  Hallo  I  it's  you,  old  woman  1  '  exclaimed  the  zinc-worker, 
half  choked  by  a  chuckle.  *  Ah  1  that's  a  good  joke,  that 
is  I    Isr't  it  a  good  joke  now  ? ' 

They  all  laughed,  My-Boots,  Bibi-the- Smoker,  and  Salted- 
Chops,  otherwise  Drink- without-Thirst.  Yes,  they  all  thought 
it  a  good  joke,  but  they  did  not  explain  why.  Gervaise  re- 
mained standing,  feeling  rather  bewildered.  Then,  as  Coupeau 
appeared  to  her  to  be  in  a  pleasant  humour,  she  ventured  to 
say :  '  You  know  we've  somewhere  to  go.  We  must  look 
sharp.     We  shall  still  be  in  time  to  see  something.' 

*  But  really  I  can't  get  up,  I'm  glued,  oh  1  I'm  not  joking/ 
resumed  Coupeau,  who  was  still  laughing.  *  Try,  just  to 
satisfy  yourself ;  pull  my  arm,  with  all  your  strength,  dash 
it !  come,  harder  than  that,  tug  away,  up  with  it  I  You  see, 
it's  that  idiot,  old  Colombe,  who's  screwed  me  to  the  seat.' 

Gervaise  had  humoured  him  at  the  game ;  and,  when  she 
let  go  of  his  arm,  the  comrades  thought  the  joke  so  good, 
that  they  wriggled  against  one  another,  braying  and  rubbing 
their  shoulders  like  donkeys  who  have  been  thrashed.  The 
zinc-worker's  mouth  was  distended  by  such  a  laugh,  that  one 
could  see  down  his  throat. 

'  You  big  noodle  !  '  said  he  at  length,  *  you  can  surely  sit 
down  for  a  minute.  We're  better  here  than  splashing  about 
outside.  Well !  yes,  I  didn't  come  home,  I  had  business  to 
attend  to.  Though  you  may  pull  a  long  face,  it  won't  alter 
matters.     Make  some  room,  you  others.' 

'  If  madame  would  accept  my  knees,  she  would  find  them 
softer  than  the  seat,'  gallantly  said  My-Boots. 


MISERY  323 

Gervaise,  not  wishing  to  attract  attention,  took  a  chair 
and  installed  herself  at  a  short  distance  from  the  table.  Then 
she  looked  at  what  the  men  were  drinking;  it  was  some 
powerful  spirit,  which  shone  like  gold  in  their  glasses.  A 
little  of  it  had  been  spilt,  and  into  this  Salted-Chops,  other- 
wise Drink-without-Thirst,  dipped  his  finger  whilst  talking, 
and  traced  the  name  of  *  Eulalie '  in  big  letters  upon  the 
table.  Then  Gervaise  noticed  that  Bibi- the- Smoker  had 
become  shockingly  aged  and  worn,  a  mere  bag  of  bones. 
My-Boot's  nose,  however,  was  in  full  bloom,  like  a  purple 
Burgundy  dahlia.  And  all  four  of  them  were  very  dirty, 
with  filthy  beards  bristling  like  bass  brushes,  ragged  blouses, 
and  black  paws,  the  nails  of  which  were  all  in  mourning. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  allowable  to  be  seen  in  their  company, 
for  though  they  had  been  lushing  ever  since  six  o'clock,  they 
still  behaved  themselves,  and  were,  in  fact,  but  just  merry. 
At  the  counter  Gervaise  saw  two  others  who  were  so  intoxi- 
cated that  they  tossed  the  contents  of  their  glasses  under 
their  chins  and  soaked  their  shirts,  fancying  all  the  time  that 
they  were  rinsing  their  mouths. 

Meanwhile,  stout  old  Colombo,  thrusting  out  his  huge 
arms,  the  peace-preservers  of  his  establishment,  quietly  served 
the  rounds  of  drinks.  The  atmosphere  was  very  warm,  and 
the  tobacco  smoke  ascended  amidst  the  blinding  glare  of  the 
gas,  rolling  about  like  dust,  steeping  the  customers  in  a  slowly 
thickening  mist,  whence  came  a  deafening  babel  of  cracked 
voices,  chnking  glasses,  oaths  and  blows  which  resounded 
like  detonations.  Thus  Gervaise  pulled  a  very  wry  face,  for 
such  a  scene  is  hardly  a  pleasant  one  for  a  woman,  especially 
when  she  is  not  used  to  it.  Moreover,  her  lungs  were  op- 
pressed, her  eyes  smarted,  and  her  head  already  felt  heavy 
from  the  alcoholic  fumes  with  which  the  whole  place  reeked. 
Then  she  suddenly  became  conscious  of  something  still  more 
unpleasant  in  her  rear ;  and  on  turning  round  she  beheld  the 
still,  the  fuddling  machine  quivering  and  rumbling  with  its 
heUish  brewing  as  it  worked  away  beneath  the  glass  roof  of 
the  narrow  courtyard.  Of  an  evening,  the  copper  looked  more 
mournful  than  ever,  lighted  only  on  its  rounded  surface  by 
one  big  red  star  ;  and  the  shadow  which  the  apparatus  cast 
on  the  wall  at  the  back,  suggested  some  horrible  figm'es, 
bodies  with  tails,  monsters  opening  their  jaws  as  if  ready  to 
B wallow  everybody  up. 

*  I  say,  Mother  Talk-too-much,  don't  make  any  of  your 

y2 


324  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

grimaces  here !  *  cried  Coupeau  to  his  wife.     *  To  Chaillot, 
you  know,  with  all  wet  blankets  !     What'll  you  drink  ? ' 

*  Nothing,  of  course,'  replied  the  laundress.  *  I  haven't 
dined  yet.' 

*  Well !  that's  all  the  more  reason  for  having  a  glass  ;  a 
drop  of  something  keeps  one  up.* 

Then,  as  she  still  retained  her  glum  expression,  My-Boots 
again  did  the  gallant. 

*  Madame  must  Uke  sweet  things,'  he  murmured. 

*  I  hke  men  who  don't  get  drunk,'  she  retorted,  getting 
angry.  *  Yes,  I  like  people  who  bring  their  earnings  home, 
and  keep  their  word  when  they  make  promises.' 

*  Ah  !  so  that's  what  upsets  you  ? '  said  the  zinc-worker, 
without  ceasing  to  chuckle.  *  You  want  your  share.  Then, 
why  do  you  refuse  a  drink,  you  goose  ?  Take  it,  it's  always 
so  much  to  your  profit.* 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly,  in  a  grave  manner,  a  wrinkle 
meantime  streaking  her  forehead  as  with  a  black  line.  And 
she  slowly  answered :  *  Why,  you're  right,  it's  a  good  idea. 
In  that  way,  we  can  drink  up  the  coin  together.' 

Bibi- the- Smoker  rose  from  his  seat  to  fetch  her  a  glass  of 
aniseed,  and  she  drew  her  chair  to  the  table.  Whilst  she  was 
sipping  the  hquor,  a  recollection  suddenly  flashed  upon  her : 
she  remembered  the  brandied  plum  which  she  had  one  day 
taken  with  Coupeau,  near  the  door,  at  the  time  when  he  was 
courting  her.  She  had  then  been  wont  to  leave  the  spirit  in 
which  the  fruit  Vv'as  preserved.  But  now,  here  she  was,  going 
back  to  liqueurs  !  Oh  !  she  knew  herself  well,  she  had  not  a  bit 
of  will.  One  need  only  have  given  her  a  little  push  to  send  her 
wallowing  in  the  very  midst  of  drink.  The  aniseed  even 
seemed  to  her  very  nice,  though  perhaps  rather  too  sweet. 
And  she  sipped  it,  whilst  listening  to  Salted- Chops,  otherwise 
Drink-without- Thirst,  who  had  begun  to  talk  about  his  sweet- 
heart, fat  Eulalie,  a  fish  hawker.  She  was  a  cunning  one 
and  no  mistake  ;  she  could  scent  him  in  the  dram-shops  in  a 
jiffy  whilst  she  pushed  her  truck  along  the  streets.  It  was 
useless  for  his  pals  to  warn  and  hide  him,  she  almost 
always  caught  him — why,  only  the  day  before,  she  had  flung 
a  plaice  at  his  nose,  just  to  teach  him  not  to  miss  the  work- 
shop. 

That,  now,  was  really  funny !  Bibi-the-Smoker  and 
My-Boots,  half- splitting  with  merriment,  began  to  slap  the 
shoulders  of  Gervaise,  who  on  her  side  laughed,  as  though 


MISERY  325 

in  spite  of  herself,  and  they  advised  her  to  take  a  lesson  from 
Eulalie,  and  bring  her  irons,  and  iron  Coupeau's  ears  for  him 
on  the  zinc  counters  of  the  dram-shops. 

*  Ah,  well ! '  cried  Coupeau,  suddenly  turning  his  wife's 
empty  glass  upside  down,  *  you  get  rid  of  it  pretty  quickly. 
Just  look,  you  others,  she  doesn't  take  long  over  it,  does  she  ?  ' 

*  Will  madame  take  another  ? '  asked  Salted- Chops,  other- 
wise Drink-without-Thirst. 

No,  she  had  had  enough.  Yet  she  hesitated.  The  aniseed 
seemed  to  have  a  sickening  effect.  She  would  rather  have 
taken  something  stiffer  to  keep  her  hungry  stomach  quiet. 
And  she  glanced  askance  at  the  fuddling  machine  near  her. 
The  sight  of  that  horrible  pot-bellied  cauldron,  with  its  long 
twisted  nose,  sent  a  shiver  down  her  back,  a  commingling  of 
fear  and  desire.  You  might  have  thought  the  thing  to  be 
some  round  fat  witch  slowly  throwing  off  liquid  fire.  A  fine 
poison  source  it  was,  a  brazen  abomination  which  ought  to 
have  been  hidden  away  in  a  cellar  !  But  all  the  same 
Gervaise  would  have  liked  to  poke  her  nose  inside  it,  sniff 
and  taste  its  contents,  even  if  in  doing  so  the  skin  should  peel 
off  her  burnt  tongue  like  the  rind  off  an  orange. 

'  What's  that  you're  drinking  ?  '  she  slyly  asked  the  men, 
her  eyes  brightening  as  she  noticed  the  beautiful  golden  colour 
of  the  liquid  in  their  glasses. 

*  That,  old  woman,'  answered  Coupeau,  *  is  papa  Colombe's 
camphor.    Now  don't  be  stupid,  we'll  just  let  you  taste  it.' 

And  when  they  had  brought  her  a  glass  of  the  '  vitriol,' 
and  her  jaws  contracted  at  the  first  mouthful,  the  zinc- worker 
resumed,  slapping  his  thighs :  '  Eh !  it  tickles  your  gullet  I 
Come,  drink  it  off  at  a  go.  Each  glassful  cheats  the  doctor 
of  six  francs.' 

At  the  second  glass,  Gervaise  no  longer  felt  the  hunger 
which  had  been  tormenting  her.  She  was  now  good  friends 
again  with  Coupeau,  no  longer  angry  with  him  for  having 
failed  to  keep  his  word.  They  would  go  to  the  circus  some 
other  day ;  after  all  it  was  not  so  funny  to  see  a  lot  of 
mountebanks  galloping  about  on  horses.  There  was  no  rain 
inside  old  Colombe's,  and  if  the  money  did  go  in  brandy,  one 
at  least  had  it  in  one's  body  ;  one  drank  it  limpid,  glittering 
like  beautiful  Hquid  gold.  Ah !  she  was  ready  to  send  the 
whole  world  to  blazes  !  Life  didn't  offer  so  many  pleasures ; 
besides,  it  seemed  to  her  some  consolation  to  have  her  share 
in  squandering  the  cash.  As  she  was  comfortable,  why  shouldn't 


326  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

she  remain  ?  There  might  be  a  discharge  of  artillery ; 
for  her  part  she  never  cared  to  stir,  once  she  had  settled 
down.  She  was  simmering  as  it  were  in  what  seemed  to  her 
a  pleasant  warmth,  her  bodice  clinging  to  her  back,  whilst  a 
sensation  of  comfort  stole  through  her,  benumbing  her  hmbs. 
She  laughed  all  to  herself,  her  elbows  resting  on  the  table, 
and  a  vacant  look  in  her  eyes,  as  she  gazed,  highly  amused, 
at  two  customers,  a  fat  heavy  fellow  and  a  dwarf,  who  sat  at 
a  neighbouring  table,  so  very  drunk  that  they  were  actually 
kissing  one  another.  Yes,  she  laughed  at  the  *  Assommoir,' 
at  old  Colombe's  full  moon  face,  at  the  customers  smoking, 
yelling  and  spitting,  and  at  the  big  gas  flames  which  set  the 
looking-glasses  and  bottles  of  liqueurs  fairly  ablaze.  The 
smell  no  longer  inconvenienced  her;  on  the  contrary,  it 
tickled  her  nose,  and  she  thought  it  very  pleasant.  Her  eyes 
closed  somewhat  whilst  she  breathed  very  slowly,  but  without 
the  least  feeling  of  oppression,  enjoying  indeed  the  gentle 
slumber  which  was  overcoming  her.  Then,  after  her  third 
glass,  she  let  her  chin  fall  on  her  hands,  and  saw  nothing 
apart  from  Coupeau  and  his^mates,  with  whom  she  remained 
cheek  by  jowl,  warmed  by  their  breath,  and  gazing  at  their 
dirty  beards  as  though  she  were  counting  the  hairs.  They 
were  very  drunk  by  this  time.  My-Boots,  his  pipe  still 
between  his  teeth,  was  drivelling  with  the  dumb  grave  air  of 
a  dozing  ox.  Bibi-the-Smoker  was  telling  how  he  emptied 
a  quart  bottle  at  a  draught,  while  Salted-Chops,  otherwise 
Drink- without-Thirst,  went  to  fetch  the  wheel  of  fortune  from 
the  counter,  in  order  to  play  Coupeau  for  drinks. 

*  Two  hundred  1  You're  lucky ;  you  get  the  high  numbers 
every  time.' 

The  needle  of  the  wheel  grated,  and  the  figure  of  Fortune, 
a  big  red  woman  placed  under  glass,  revolved  and  revolved, 
until  it  looked  like  a  mere  round  splotch,  similar  to  a  wme 
stain. 

*  Three  hundred  and  fifty,  you  blooming  lascar  1  Ah ! 
dash  it  I  I  sha'n't  play  any  more  ! ' 

Then  Gervaise  amused  herself  with  the  wheel  of  fortune. 
She  guzzled  like  a  fish  and  began  to  call  My  Boots  her  *  son.' 
Close  to  her,  the  fuddling  machine  continued  working, 
murmuring  like  an  underground  stream  ;  and  she  despaired 
of  ever  stopping  and  exhausting  it,  filled  as  she  was  with 
dark  anger  against  it,  experiencing  a  longing  to  spring  upon 
it  as  upon  some  animal,  kick  it  with  her  heels  and  stave  it 


MISERY  327 

in.  Then  everything  became  confused  to  her  eyes,  she  seemed 
to  see  the  machine  moving,  and  she  felt  herself  clutched  by 
its  copper  claws,  whilst  the  stream  now  flowed  along  through 
her  own  body. 

And  afterwards  the  room  danced  round,  and  the  gas  flames 
darted  about  like  shooting  stars.  Gervaise  was  drunk.  She 
heard  a  furious  wrangle  between  Salted-Chops,  otherwise 
Drink-without-Thirst,  and  that  rascal  Colombe.  There  was 
a  thief  of  a  landlord  for  you  who  wanted  one  to  pay  for  what 
one  had  not  had  I  They  were  not  at  Bondy  surely.'  Suddenly, 
however,  there  came  a  scuffle.  Yells  rang  out,  and  tables 
were  upset.  It  was  old  Colombe,  who  was  turning  the  party 
into  the  street,  without  the  slightest  hesitation,  and  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  From  outside  the  door  they  railed  at 
him,  and  called  him  scoundrel.  It  stiU  rained,  and  an  icy 
breeze  was  blowing.  Gervaise  lost  Coupeau,  found  him,  and 
then  lost  him  again.  She  wished  to  go  home,  and  felt  the 
shop  fronts  to  ascertain  her  way.  The  sudden  darkness  sur- 
prised her  immensely.  So  much  so  that  at  the  corner  of  the 
Kue  des  Poissonniers,  she  sat  down  in  the  gutter  thinking  she 
was  at  the  wash-house.  The  water  which  flowed  past  made 
her  head  swim,  and  she  felt  very  ill.  At  length,  however,  she 
reached  the  house  and  passed  stiffly  before  the  doorkeepers' 
room,  where  she  recognised  both  the  Lorilleux  and  the 
Poissons  who,  sitting  at  the  table,  made  grimaces  of  disgust 
at  seeing  her  in  such  a  sorry  state. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  never  remembered  how  she 
managed  to  climb  the  six  flights  of  stairs.  Just  as  she  was 
turning  into  the  passage  at  the  top,  little  Lalie,  who  heard 
her  footstep,  hastened  to  meet  her,  opening  her  arms  caress- 
ingly, and  saying  with  a  smile  :  *  Madame  Gervaise,  papa  has 
not  come  back  yet ;  just  come  and  see  my  children  sleeping. 
Oh !  they  look  so  pretty.* 

But,  at  sight  of  the  laundress's  besotted  face  Lalie  trembled 
and  drew  back.  She  knew  that  brandy-laden  breath,  those 
pale  eyes,  and  that  twisted  mouth.  And  Gervaise  stumbled 
past  without  uttering  a  word,  whilst  the  child,  from  the 
threshold  of  her  room,  watched  her  with  her  dark,  grave  and 
Bilent  glance. 

*  The  forest  of  Bondy  was  formerly  famous  for  foot-pads. 


328  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

XI 

NANA 

Nana  was  growing  up  and  becoming  wayward.  At  jBfteen 
years  old  she  had  expanded  like  a  calf,  white  skinned  and 
very  fat,  so  plump  indeed  that  you  might  have  called  her  a 
ball.  Yes,  such  she  was — fifteen  years  old,  with  all  her  teeth 
and  no  need  of  stays.  And  she  had  a  hussy's  phiz,  dipped  in 
milk,  a  skin  as  soft  as  peach  rind,  a  funny  nose,  pink  lips  and 
eyes  sparkling  like  tapers.  Her  pile  of  fair  hair,  the  colour 
of  fresh  oats,  seem.ed  to  have  scattered  gold  dust,  freckle-like, 
over  her  temples,  giving  her  brow  a  sunny  crown.  Ah  !  she 
was  a  pretty  doll,  as  the  Lorilleux  said,  childish  still  in  some 
respects,  but  with  shoulders  as  rounded  as  those  of  a  full- 
grown  woman.  One  bad  habit  which  she  had  acquired 
was  that  of  protruding  the  tip  of  her  tongue  between  her 
white  teeth.  No  doubt  on  seeing  herself  in  looking-glasses 
she  had  fancied  that  she  was  pretty  like  this  ;  and  so  all  day 
long  she  would  poke  her  tongue  out  of  her  mouth  in  view  of 
improving  her  appearance. 

'Hide  your  lying  tongue,'  cried  her  mother,  to  whom, 
however,  she  paid  so  little  heed  that  Coupeau  often  had  to 
intervene,  banging  his  fist,  swearing  and  shouting :  '  Make 
haste  and  draw  that  red  rag  inside  ! ' 

At  the  same  time,  Nana  showed  herself  very  coquettish. 
She  bought  such  tight  boots  that  she  suffered  martyrdom  in 
St.  Crispin's  prison,  and  if  folks  chanced  to  question  her, 
when  she  now  and  again  turned  purple  with  pain,  she 
answered  that  she  had  the  face-ache,  so  as  to  avoid  con- 
fessing her  coquetry.  When  bread  was  lacking  at  home,  it 
was,  of  course,  difficult  for  her  to  trick  herself  out.  But  she 
accomplished  miracles,  brought  ribbons  back  from  the  work- 
shop, and  embellished  her  dirty  dresses  with  bows  and  puffs. 
The  summer  was  the  season  of  her  triumphs  :  every  Sunday 
in  a  cambric  dress  which  had  cost  her  six  francs,  she  filled 
the  whole  neighbourhood  of  the  Goutte-d'Or  with  her  fair 
beauty.  She  became  known  from  the  outer  Boulevards  to 
the  Fortifications,  and  from  the  Chaussee  de  Clignancourt  to 
the  Grande  Eue  of  La  Chapelle.  Folks  called  her  '  the  little 
pullet,'  and  really  she  was  as  tender  and  fresh-looking  as  a 
chicken. 


NANA  329 

One  gown  in  particular  suited  lier  to  perfection.  It  was  a 
white  one  covered  with  pink  spots,  very  simply  cut  and  with- 
out trimmings.  The  skirt,  which  was  rather  short,  gave  her 
feet  full  play.  The  loose  open  sleeves  allowed  her  arms  to 
be  seen  to  the  elbows.  When  she  went  out  she  often  pinned 
the  upper  part  of  her  bodice  back  heart-wise,  in  view  of  show- 
ing her  snowy  neck.  But  this  she  did  not  do  at  home,  fearful 
as  she  was  of  a  clout  from  father  Coupeau.  She  halted  for 
the  purpose  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  staircase.  And  she  had 
no  other  adornment  save  a  pink  ribbon  tied  round  her  fair 
hair,  with  its  ends  waving  over  the  nape  of  her  neck.  Arranged 
like  this,  she  looked  as  fresh  as  a  nosegay,  and  exhaled  all 
the  perfume  of  youth. 

At  this  period  of  her  life  Sundays  were  her  great  days  for 
meeting  the  crowd.  She  waited  the  whole  week,  quivering 
with  little  longings  and  stifling,  impatient  for  fresh  air,  for  a 
stroll  in  the  sunlight  among  the  Faubourg  crowd,  rigged  out 
in  its  Sunday  best.  Early  in  the  morning  she  began  to 
dress,  lingering  for  hours  in  her  shift  in  front  of  the  bit  of 
glass  hanging  over  the  chest  of  drawers  ;  and  her  mother 
often  grew  angry,  and  asked  her  if  she  hadn't  nearly  finished 
walking  about  in  such  scanty  attire.  Nevertheless,  she 
would  quietly  continue  plastering  corkscrew  ringlets  over  her 
forehead  with  sugared  water,  or  sewing  buttons  on  her  boots, 
or  else  mending  a  rent  in  her  dress. 

Ah  !  she  was  just  the  ticket  like  that !  said  father  Coupeau, 
sneering  and  jeering  at  her.  With  her  dishevelled  locks  she 
looked  a  real  Magdalen  in  despair  !  She  might  have  turned 
'  savage  woman  '  at  some  fair  !  Just  dress  yourself,  he  used 
to  say,  and  let  me  eat  my  bread  I  Withal  she  was  adorable, 
white  and  dainty  under  her  overhanging  golden  fleece,  yet  at 
times  losing  temper  to  such  a  point  that  her  skin  turned 
quite  pink.  She  dared  not  answer  her  father,  but  would  cut 
her  thread  with  her  teeth  with  such  a  hasty,  furious  jerk  that 
her  whole  figure  quivered. 

Immediately  after  dejeuner  she  tripped  downstairs  into  the 
courtyard.  The  house  was  somnolent  with  the  warm  peace- 
fulness  of  Sunday,  the  workshops  were  closed,  the  rooms 
yawned,  with  open  windows  throi  g  1  which  one  espied  tables 
already  laid  for  the  evening  meal,  and  awaiting  households 
which  for  the  nonce  were  picking  up  appetites  on  the  Fortifica- 
tions. One  woman  on  the  thiid  floor  would  occupy  her  time 
in  cleaning  her  room,  rolUng  her  bed  about,  disturbing  all  her 


330  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

furniture  and  singing  the  same  song  for  hours  in  a  soft  tear- 
ful voice.  Then  in  the  general  hush,  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  empty,  echoing  courtyard,  Nana,  PauHne  and  other  big 
girls  would  engage  in  games  of  battledore  and  shuttlecock. 
There  were  five  or  six  o  them  who  had  sprouted  up  together, 
and  become  the  young  queens  of  the  house.  Whenever  a 
man  crossed  the  courtyard  shrill  laughter  rang  out  and  a 
rustle  of  starched  skirts  arose  like  a  gust  of  wind.  Above 
the  girls  flamed  the  holiday  atmosphere,  hot  and  heavy, 
drowsily  lazy  as  it  were,  and  whitened  by  the  dust  scattered 
by  all  the  promenaders. 

But  the  games  were  only  an  excuse  to  enable  the  girls  to 
make  off.  AH  at  once  stillness  would  fall  upon  the  house. 
The  girls  had  glided  into  the  street  and  made  for  the  outer 
Boulevards.  There,  linked  arm  in  arm  and  stretching  right 
across  the  pavement,  they  walked  along,  the  whole  six  of 
them,  clad  in  light  colours,  with  ribbons  round  their  bare 
heads.  With  bright  eyes,  darting  stealthy  side  glances 
hither  and  thither,  they  took  note  of  everything  and  every- 
one, and  constantly  threw  back  their  heads  to  laugh  and 
display  their  rounded  chins  and  white  necks.  Their  line 
broke  at  moments  of  particular  gaiety  provoked  by  some 
passing  hunchback  or  some  queer  old  woman  waiting  for  her 
dog  ;  and  then  some  of  them  remained  in  the  rear,  and  had 
to  be  dragged  forward  by  the  others.  And  meantime  they 
curvetted  and  pranced  so  as  to  make  their  dresses  rustle  and 
attract  general  attention.  The  whole  street  belonged  to 
them  ;  right  through  the  pale  and  slow-paced  crowd,  between 
the  slim  trees  of  the  Boulevard,  they  ran  on  in  straggling 
order  from  the  Barriere  Eochechouart  to  the  Barriere  Saint- 
Denis,  pushing  against  the  people  they  met,  winding  in  zig- 
zag fashion  through  groups  of  bystanders,  turning  round  and 
exchanging  loud  remarks  amidst  fusee-like  laughter.  And 
their  wavy  gowns  left  in  their  trail  some  of  the  insolence  of 
youth  ;  they  made  a  display  of  themselves  in  the  open  air,  in 
the  broad  sunlight,  as  coarse  in  manners  and  language  as  the 
very  lowest,  and  yet  desirable  and  tender  like  virgins  return- 
ing with  moist  necks  from  the  bath. 

Nana  generally  placed  herself  in  the  centre,  with  her  pink 
dress  all  aglow  in  the  sunlight.  She  gave  her  arm  to  Pauline, 
whose  gown,  with  its  yellow  flowers  on  a  white  ground, 
glared  as  it  were  with  little  flames.  And  as  these  two  were 
the  tallest  of  the  band,  the  most  womanlike  and  impudent  of 


NANA  33t 

all,  they  led  the  troop,  and  drew  themselves  up  pertly  at  every 
glance  or  complimentary  remark.  The  others — the  younger 
ones — extended  to  right  and  left,  puffing  themselves  out  in 
order  to  appear  less  childish.  At  heart  Nana  and  Pauline 
nursed  some  very  intricate  schemes  of  coquetry.  If  they  ran 
till  they  were  out  of  breath,  it  was  to  show  their  white 
stockings  and  make  the  ribbons  of  their  chignons  wave  in  the 
breeze.  And  when  they  stopped,  pretending  to  suffocate, 
with  bosoms  palpitating,  there  was  certainly  one  of  their 
sweethearts,  some  young  blood  of  the  neighbourhood,  near 
by.  Then  they  walked  on  with  languid  steps,  whispering 
laughingly  to  each  other  and  watching  stealthily  from  under 
their  eyelids.  They  were  especially  eager  for  these  chance 
meetings  amidst  all  the  josthng  on  the  pavement.  Big 
fellows  in  Sunday  attire,  jackets  and  felt  hats,  detained  them 
for  a  moment  at  the  edge  of  the  gutter,  bantering  and  seeking 
to  squeeze  their  waists.  Young  workmen,  just  in  the  twenties, 
in  slovenly  grey  blouses,  talked  slowly  to  them,  with  arms 
crossed,  while  puffing  the  smoke  of  their  short  pipes  into 
their  faces.  But  all  this  was  of  no  importance ;  these  chaps 
had  sprouted  up  on  the  pavement  at  the  same  time  as  them- 
selves. Still  amongst  the  lot  they  had  already  made  their 
choice.  PauHne  was  always  meeting  Madame  Gaudron's 
son,  a  seventeen-year-old  carpenter,  who  treated  her  to  apples ; 
and  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other  Nana  could  dis- 
tinguish young  Victor  Fauconnier,  the  washerwoman's  son, 
with  whom  she  exchanged  kisses  in  dark  corners.  But  things 
did  not  go  any  further ;  they  were  not  simple  Susans.  Only 
the  talk  was  extremely  coarse. 

Then,  when  the  sun  set,  the  great  delight  of  these  hussies 
was  to  stop  and  look  at  the  mountebanks.  Conjurors  and 
strong  men  made  their  appearance  and  spread  threadbare 
carpets  on  the  ground.  Loungers  assembled,  and  a  circle  was 
formed,  whilst  the  mountebank  in  the  centre  tried  his  muscles 
under  his  faded  tights.  Nana  and  Pauline  would  remain 
standing  for  hours  in  the  thickest  of  the  crowd.  Their  pretty 
fresh-looking  dresses  were  creased  and  tumbled  by  long  rubbing 
against  men's  coats  and  dirty  blouses.  Their  bare  arms,  bare 
necks,  and  bare  heads  grew  hot  amid  all  the  foul  breath  of 
those  around  them,  the  offensive  odour  of  wine  and  perspira- 
tion combined.  Yet  they  laughed  with  enjoyment,  in  nowise 
disgusted,  but  rather  all  the  rosier,  as  if  they  had  been  on 
theii  native  dungheap.  Around  them  rang  out  coarse  words — 


332  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

the  horrid  reroarks  of  drunken  men.  But,  'twas  their  own 
language,  they  knew  it  well,  and  they  simply  turned  round 
with  a  smile,  not  a  flush  even  tinging  their  satin-like 
skins. 

The  only  thing  that  vexed  them  was  to  meet  their  fathers, 
especially  when  the  latter  had  been  drinking.  So  they  watched 
and  warned  one  another. 

'  I  say  Nana,'  Pauline  would  suddenly  cry  out,  '  here  comea 
daddy  Coupeau  1  * 

*  Eh !  he  isn't  drunk,  oh !  dear  no,  not  at  all  I '  said  Nana, 
greatly  bothered.  *  I  shall  cut  and  run,  for  I  don't  want  a 
shaking.  Hallo !  there  he  stumbles !  Good  Lord,  if  he 
would  only  break  his  neck  I ' 

At  other  times,  when  Coupeau  came  straight  towards  her 
without  giving  her  time  to  run  off,  she  crouched  down,  made 
herself  small  and  muttered :  *  Just  you  hide  me,  you  others. 
He's  looking  for  me,  and  he  promised  he'd  knock  my  head 
off  if  he  caught  me  ganging  about.' 

Then,  when  the  drunkard  had  passed  them,  she  drew  her- 
self up  again,  and  all  the  others  followed  her  with  bursts  of 
laughter.  He'll  find  her — he  will— he  won't !  It  was  a  real 
game  at  hide  and  seek.  One  day,  however,  Boche  came  after 
Pauline  and  caught  her  by  both  ears,  and  Coupeau  drove 
Nana  to  the  house  by  dint  of  kicking. 

When  the  day  drew  to  a  close,  they  took  just  a  last  turn  and 
then  went  homeward  in  the  livid  twilight,  through  the  tired 
crowd.  The  dust  had  thickened  in  the  atmosphere,  paling  the 
heavy  sky.  The  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  might  have  been  thought 
a  corner  of  some  provincial  town  with  its  housewives  gossiping 
on  the  doorsteps,  and  their  bursts  of  chatter  disturbing  the 
warm  silence  of  the  neighbourhood  through  which  no  vehicle 
passed.  The  girls  stopped  for  a  minute  in  the  courtyard,  took 
up  their  battledores  and  tried  to  make  folks  believe  that  they 
hadn't  stirred  from  the  spot.  Then  they  went  upstairs  con- 
cocting some  story  which  they  often  had  no  need  to  repeat, 
as,  for  instance,  when  they  found  their  parents  busy  in  cuffing 
one  another,  because  the  soup  was  over  salted,  or  not  cooked 
enough. 

Nana  was  now  a  workgirl,  and  earned  forty  sous  a  day  at 
Titreville's  place  in  the  Rue  du  Caire,  where  she  had  served 
as  apprentice.  The  Coupeaus  had  kept  her  there,  in  order 
that  she  might  remain  under  the  eye  of  Madame  Lerat,  who 
had  been  forewoman  in  the  workroom  for  ten  years  past.     Of 


NANA  333 

a  morning,  when  her  mother  had  glanced  at  the  cuckoo  clock, 
the  girl  went  off  by  herself,  looking  very  pretty  in  her  old 
black  dress,  which  was  both  too  narrow  and  too  short  for  her ; 
and  Madame  Lerat  had  to  note  the  hour  of  her  arrival  and 
tell  it  to  Gervaise.  She  was  allowed  twenty  minutes  to  go 
from  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  to  the  Rue  du  Caire,  and  this 
was  ample,  for  young  hussies  like  her  are  as  swift  of  foot  as 
any  roe.  At  times  she  arrived  to  the  minute,  but  so  red  and 
so  out  of  breath  that  she  must  certainly  have  sped  from  the 
Barriere  in  ten  minutes,  after  dawdling  on  the  road  before- 
hand. More  usually,  however,  she  was  seven  or  eight  minutes 
late ;  and  then  she  behaved  most  coaxingly  towards  her  aunt 
until  night  time,  looking  at  her  with  supphcating  eyes  and 
thus  trying  to  touch  her  and  induce  her  to  tell  nothing. 
Madame  Lerat  who  understood  youthful  vagaries,  kept  the 
truth  from  the  Coupeaus,  but  she  rebuked  Nana  with  no  end 
of  chatter,  talking  of  her  responsibility  and  of  the  dangers  to 
which  a  young  girl  was  exposed  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  where 
horrid  men  were  ever  on  the  prowl. 

*  Do  you  see,'  she  repeated  to  her  niece,  *  you  must  tell  me 
everything.  I'm  so  fond  of  you  that  if  any  misfortune  should 
befall  you,  I  should  go  and  throw  myself  in  the  Seine.  Do 
you  hear,  my  httle  puss  ?  If  anybody  speaks  to  you,  you 
must  repeat  everything  to  me  without  omitting  a  word — eh  ? 
Has  anyone  said  anything  to  you  as  yet  ?  Will  you  swear 
it?' 

Nana  thereupon  laughed,  twisting  her  mouth  in  a  funny 
manner.  No,  no,  people  didn't  talk  to  her.  She  walked  too 
fast,  and  besides  what  could  anybody  have  to  say  to  her? 
She  had  nothing  to  do  with  strangers ;  and  putting  on  the 
air  of  a  simpleton,  she  explained  how  it  happened  that  she 
was  late ;  she  had  stopped  to  look  at  some  pictures  in  the 
shop  windows,  or  else  she  had  accompanied  Pauline  to  hear  a 
story  she  knew.  Folks  could  follow  her  if  they  did  not  beUeve 
her :  she  always  kept  to  the  pavement  on  the  left-hand  side  ; 
and  sped  along  like  a  vehicle,  overtaking  all  the  other  girls 
and  passing  them  by.  To  tell  the  truth,  Madame  Lerat  had 
one  day  come  upon  her  in  the  Rue  du  Petit-Carreau,  while 
she  was  laughing  with  three  damsels  of  her  own  class,  at  a 
man  who  stood  shaving  himself  at  a  window  ;  but  when  her 
aunt  reproached  her  for  this  she  turned  quite  angry  and  vowed 
that  she  had  just  been  to  the  baker's  round  the  corner  to  buy 
a  ha'penny  roll. 


334  THE  DRAM-SROP 

*  Oh  I  I  watch,  you  needn't  fear,'  said  the  widow  to  the 
Coupeaus.  *  I  will  answer  to  you  for  her  as  I  would  answer 
for  myself.  And  rather  than  let  any  scoundrel  approach  her, 
why  I'd  step  between  them.' 

The  workroom  at  Titreville's  was  a  large  first-floor  apart- 
ment, in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a  .broad  work-table  on 
trestles.  Round  the  four  walls,  the  plaster  of  which  was 
visible  in  parts  where  the  dirty,  yellowish  grey  paper  had 
been  torn  away,  there  were  several  stands  covered  with  old 
cardboard  boxes,  parcels,  and  discarded  patterns,  which  lay 
forgotten  there  under  a  thick  coat  of  dust.  The  gas  had  left 
what  appeared  to  be  a  daub  of  soot  on  the  ceiling.  There 
were  two  windows  which  opened  so  widely  that,  without 
leaving  the  work-table,  the  girls  could  see  people  passing 
along  the  pavement  over  the  way. 

Madame  Lerat  always  arrived  the  first,  in  view  of  setting 
an  example.  Then  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  door  swayed  to 
and  fro,  and  all  the  workgirls  straggled  in,  perspiring  and 
with  tumbled  hair.  One  July  morning  Nana  arrived  the  last, 
as  very  often  happened.  *  Ah  me  I '  she  said,  '  it  won't  be  a 
pity  when  I've  a  carriage  of  my  own.'  And  without  even 
taking  off  her  head  gear,  a  *  caloquet '  which  she  called  her 
cap,  and  which  she  was  weary  of  patching  up,  she  approached 
the  window,  and  leant  out,  looking  to  right  and  left  to  sea 
what  was  going  on  in  the  street. 

'What  are  you  looking  at?'  asked  Madame  Lerat  sus- 
piciously.    *  Did  your  father  come  with  you  ? ' 

*No,  you  may  be  sure  of  that,'  answered  Nana  coolly, 
'  I'm  looking  at  nothing — I'm  looking — that  it's  awfully  hot. 
It's  enough  to  make  anyone  ill  to  force  them  to  run  Hke 
that.' 

It  was  indeed  a  stifling  morning.  The  workgirls  had 
drawn  down  the  Venetian  blinds,  between  which  they  could 
spy  into  the  street ;  and  they  at  last  began  their  work  seated 
on  either  side  of  the  table,  at  the  upper  end  of  which  was 
Madame  Lerat.  They  were  eight  in  number,  each  with  her 
pot  of  glue,  tools,  and  curHng  stands  in  front  of  her.  On  the 
work-table  lay  a  jumble  of  wire,  reels,  cotton  wool,  green  and 
brown  paper,  leaves  and  petals  cut  out  of  silk,  satin,  or  velvet. 
In  the  centre,  in  the  neck  of  a  large  decanter,  one  flower-girl 
had  thrust  a  little  penny  nosegay  which  had  been  fading  on 
her  breast  since  the  previous  day. 

*  Ah  1  do  you  know,'  said  L^onie,  a  pretty  girl  with  dark 


NANA  335 

hair,  who  was  leaning  over  her  stand  and  curling  the  petals 
of  a  rose,  '  it  seems  that  poor  Caroline  is  awfully  miserable 
with  that  fellow  who  used  to  wait  for  her  every  evening.' 

Nana,  who  was  cutting  some  narrow  bands  of  green 
paper,  declared  that  the  news  in  nowise  surprised  her, 
for  the  fellow  in  question  was  well  known  for  his  fickleness  ; 
only  she  did  not  employ  the  word  fickleness — a  very  coarse 
expression  fell  from  her  hps  instead. 

An  undercurrent  of  gaiety  then  spread  through  the  work- 
room, and  Madame  Lerat  found  it  needful  to  make  a  show  of 
severity.  She  screwed  up  her  nose  and  muttered  :  '  You  are 
nice  in  your  language,  my  dear,  and  no  mistake.  I  shall  tell 
your  father  of  it,  and  we'll  see  if  he's  pleased.' 

At  this  Nana  puffed  out  her  cheeks  as  if  striving  to  repress 
a  laugh.  Her  father,  indeed  1  Why,  he  used  far  worse  lan- 
guage himself.  But  all  at  once  Leonie  swiftly  whispered : 
'  Eh  I  take  care  ;  here  comes  madame  I ' 

And  indeed  Madame  Titreville,  a  tall  withered-looking 
woman,  who  as  a  rule  remained  in  the  shop  downstairs,  now 
entered  the  workroom.  The  girls  lived  in  constant  fear  of 
her,  for  she  never  joked.  She  went  slowly  round  the  table, 
over  which  each  of  them,  silent  and  active,  now  bent  her  head. 
And  after  calling  one  girl  a  fool,  she  made  her  begin  a  daisy 
over  again.     Then  she  went  off,  as  stiffly  as  she  had  come. 

*  Bow !  wow ! '  repeated  Nana  in  the  midst  of  a  general 
growl. 

•  Young  ladies,  really,  young  ladies ! '  said  Madame  Lerat, 
striving  to  assume  an  air  of  severity.  '  You  will  compel  me 
to  adopt  measures ' 

But  she  was  not  listened  to,  for  she  was  scarcely  feared  at 
all.  She  showed  herself  far  too  tolerant,  pleasantly  diverted 
as  it  were  by  associating  with  those  girls  whose  eyes  were  full 
of  merriment.  She  would  take  them  aside  to  question  them 
about  their  sweethearts,  and  even  tell  them  their  fortunes 
with  cards,  when  a  corner  of  the  work-table  happened  to  be 
unencumbered.  Hard  of  skin  though  she  was,  built  like  a 
gendarme,  she  nevertheless  quivered  with  delight  when  any 
amorous  subject  was  broached.  The  only  thing  that  she 
objected  to  was  plain  words  ;  but  provided  plain  words  were 
not  used,  anything  might  be  insinuated. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Nana  perfected  her  education  in  nice 
style  in  that  workroom !  No  doubt  she  was  badly  inclined 
already ;  but  this  was  the  finishing  stroke — associating  with 


33^  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

a  number  of  girls  worn  out  with  misery  and  vice.  They  all 
hobnobbed  and  rotted  together  ;  it  was  a  practical  application 
of  the  story  of  the  basketful  of  apples  when  the  bad  ones 
slowly  rotted  those  which  were  sound.  No  doubt  there  was 
some  pretence  at  decency  in  the  presence  of  strangers ;  but 
in  corners,  among  themselves,  the  girls  whispered  coarse 
remarks  as  fast  as  could  be  managed.  Two  of  them  could 
not  remain  together  for  a  moment  without  wriggling  with 
laughter  at  some  impropriety.  Then,  in  the  evening  they 
saw  each  other  home  ;  and  confidential  revelations — stories 
calculated  to  set  the  hair  of  respectable  people  on  end — were 
exchanged  on  the  pavement,  delaying  the  girls  and  perturbing 
them  amidst  all  the  elbowing  crowd.  Moreover,  the  atmO' 
sphere  of  the  workroom  itself  was  bad  for  those  who  like 
Nana  had  hitherto  kept  from  stumbling.  The  dissolute  girls 
brought  with  them  something  of  the  shameless  lives  they  led, 
the  subtle  intoxication  and  languor  of  vice,  a  spirit  of  perver- 
sion. In  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  her  degrading  environ- 
ment had  taught  Nana  much,  and  her  subsequent  companion- 
ship in  the  Rue  du  Caire  was  like  practice  following  precept. 
The  place  was  akin  to  some  hot-house  where  the  seeds  of 
vice  once  sown  were  forced  to  sprout  and  blossom. 

A  few  minutes'  quiet  followed  Madame  Titreville's  depar- 
ture from  the  workroom.  Then  Nana,  exclaiming,  '  Oh  !  it's 
hot  enough  to  make  one  stifle,'  approached  a  window  as 
if  to  draw  the  bhnd  farther  down ;  but  instead  of  doing  so 
she  leant  forward,  and  again  looked  out  both  to  the  right  and 
the  left. 

At  the  same  moment  Leonie,  who  had  been  watching  a 
man  stationed  on  the  foot  pavement  over  the  way,  exclaimed : 
*  What's  that  old  fellow  about  ?  He's  been  spying  here  for 
the  last  quarter  of  an  hour.' 

'  Some  scoundrel  or  other,'  said  Madame  Lerat.  '  Nana, 
just  come  and  sit  down !  I  forbade  you  to  remain  at  the 
window.' 

Nana  again  took  up  the  violet  stems  which  she  had  to 
roll,  and  the  whole  workroom  turned  its  attention  to  the  man 
in  question.  He  was  a  well-dressed,  frock-coated  individual, 
and  looked  about  fifty  years  of  age.  He  had  a  pale  face,  very 
serious  and  dignified  in  expression,  and  framed  with  a  well- 
trimmed  grey  beard.  He  remained  for  an  hour  or  so  in  front 
of  a  herbahst's  shop  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Venetian  blinds 
of  the  workroom.     The  girls  indulged  in  little  bursts  of 


NANA  337 

laughter  which  died  away  amid  the  rattle  of  the  street,  and 
while  leaning  forward,  to  all  appearance  busy  with  their  work, 
they  glanced  askance  so  as  not  to  lose  sight  of  the  gentleman. 

*  Ah !  '  remarked  L^onie,  *  he  wears  glasses.  He's  a 
swell.     He's  waiting  for  Augustine,  no  doubt.' 

But  Augustine,  a  tall,  ugly,  fair-haired  girl,  sourly  answered 
that  she  did  not  like  old  men ;  whereupon  Madame  Lerat, 
jerking  her  head,  answered  with  a  smile  :  '  That  is  a  great 
mistake  on  your  part,  my  dear  ;  better  be  an  old  man's  darling 
than  a  young  man's  slave.* 

At  this  moment  another  girl,  a  plump  little  body,  whispered 
something  in  L^onie's  ear,  and  Leonie  threw  herself  back  on 
her  chair,  seized  with  a  fit  of  noisy  laughter,  wriggUng,  looking 
at  the  gentleman  and  then  laughing  all  the  louder.  *  That's 
it.  Oh!  that's  it,*  she  stammered.  'How  horrid  that 
Sophie  is  1  ' 

'What  did  she  say?  What  did  she  say?'  inquisitively 
inquired  all  the  others. 

L6onie  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes  without  answering. 
When  she  became  somewhat  calmer,  she  began  to  curl  her 
flowers  again  and  declared,  'It  can't  be  repeated.' 

The  others  insisted,  but  she  shook  her  head,  with  another 
outburst  of  gaiety.  Thereupon  Augustine,  her  left-hand 
neighbour,  besought  her  to  whisper  it  to  her ;  and  finally 
Leonie  consented  to  do  so,  with  her  lips  close  to  Augustine's 
ear.  Augustine  threw  herself  back  and  wriggled  with  laughter 
in  her  turn.  Then  she  repeated  the  phrase  to  a  girl  next  to 
her,  and  from  ear  to  ear  it  travelled  round  the  room  amid 
exclamations  and  stifled  laughter.  When  they  were  all  of 
them  acquainted  with  what  Sophie  had  said,  they  looked  at 
one  another  and  burst  out  laughing  together,  although  a  little 
flushed  and  confused.  Madame  Lerat  alone  was  not  in  the 
secret,  and  felt  extremely  vexed  thereat.  *  That's  very  impolite 
on  your  part,  young  ladies,'  said  she.  *  It  is  not  right  to 
whisper  when  other  people  are  present.  Something  indecorous, 
no  doubt !     Ah  I  that's  becoming,  I  must  say  I ' 

Still,  she  did  not  venture  to  ask  what  it  was  that  Sophie 
had  said,  however  much  she  might  have  longed  to  learn  it. 
She  put  on  a  dignified  expression,  lowered  her  head,  and 
silently  regaled  herself  with  the  chatter  of  the  workgirls. 
None  of  them  could  make  the  most  innocent  remark  about 
her  work,  without  the  others  interpreting  it  maliciously.  And 
as  the  gentleman  was  still  waiting  over  the  way  they  invariably 

z 


338  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

contrived  to  associate  him  with  their  allusions.  Ah  !  his  eara 
must  have  tingled,  and  no  mistake  1  They  ended  by  saying 
some  very  stupid  things  in  their  anxiety  to  be  witty.  Still, 
this  did  not  prevent  them  from  finding  the  pastime  a  very 
amusing  one. 

Nana  fairly  revelled  in  it  all.  Indeed,  she  was  always  at 
home  in  anything  vicious,  even  as  a  fish  is  at  home  in  water. 
At  the  same  time,  however,  she  kept  on  preparing  her  violet 
stems  with  wonderful  dexterity,  completing  each  of  them  in 
less  time  than  a  man  would  have  required  to  roll  a  cigarette. 
She  just  took  up  a  strip  of  green  paper,  and  then,  presto  I  the 
paper  glided  round  the  wire ;  next  came  a  drop  of  gum  on  the 
top,  and  the  stalk  was  done — a  fresh,  delicate  bit  of  greenery, 
fit  to  lie  on  a  lady's  bosom.  The  dexterity  was  in  N  ana's 
fingers,  her  hussy's  fingers,  which  were  nimble  and  supple, 
double -jointed,  as  it  were.  This  was  all  she  had  been  able  to 
learn  of  the  flower-making  profession,  and  all  the  stems  of 
the  workroom  were  entrusted  to  her,  so  skilfully  did  she 
prepare  them. 

However,  the  gentleman  over  the  road  had  at  last  gone 
off.  The  girls  grew  calmer,  and  worked  away  in  the  sultry 
heat.  When  twelve  o'clock  struck — meal-time — they  all 
shook  themselves.  Nana,  who  had  hastened  to  the  window 
again,  volunteered  to  do  the  errands  if  they  liked.  And 
Leonie  ordered  a  penn'orth  of  shrimps,  Augustine  a  screw  of 
fried  potatoes,  Lisa  a  bunch  of  radishes,  and  Sophie  a  sausage. 
Then  as  Nana  was  going  downstairs,  Madame  Lerat,  who 
thought  the  girl's  partiality  for  the  window  that  morning 
rather  curious,  came  down  after  her  with  all  the  speed  of  her 
long  legs. 

'  Wait  a  bit,'  she  said.  *  I'll  go  with  you,  I  want  to  buy 
something  too.' 

But  in  the  passage  below  she  perceived  the  gentleman, 
stuck  there  like  a  candle,  and  exchanging  glances  with  Nana, 
who  looked  very  red.  Her  aunt  at  once  caught  her  by  the 
arm  and  bundled  her  over  the  pavement,  whilst  the  gentle- 
man followed  behind.  Ah  I  so  he  had  come  after  Nana. 
Well,  that  was  nice  !  And  thereupon  Madame  Lerat  hastily 
began  to  question  the  girl.  Oh  !  really,  Nana  didn't  know ; 
but  he  had  been  following  her  for  five  days  past  and  she 
could  never  poke  her  nose  out  of  doors  without  stumbling  on 
him.  She  believed  he  was  in  business  ;  yes,  she  had  been 
told  he  was  a  manufacturer  of  bone-buttons.    This  impressed 


NANA  339 

Madame  Lerat.  She  turned  round  and  glanced  at  the  gentle- 
man out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye.  *  One  can  see  he's  got  a 
well-hned  purse,'  she  muttered.  *  Listen  to  me,  pussy  ;  you 
must  tell  me  everything.  You  have  nothing  more  to  fear 
now.' 

Whilst  speakmg,  they  hastened  on  from  shop  to  shop — 
to  the  pork  butcher's,  the  fruiterer's,  and  the  roaster's ;  and 
there  was  soon  a  pile  of  errands  in  greasy  paper  in  their 
hands.  Still  they  remained  amiable,  curvetting,  laughing 
gaily  and  casting  bright  glances  behind  them.  Even  Madame 
Lerat  tried  to  do  the  graceful  and  act  the  young  girl,  on  ac- 
count of  the  button  manufacturer  who  was  still  following 
them.  *He  is  very  distinguished  looking,'  she  declared  aa 
they  returned  into  the  passage.  *  If  he  only  has  honourable 
views.'  Then  as  they  were  going  upstairs  she  suddenly 
seemed  to  remember  something.  *  By  the  way,  what  were 
the  girls  whispering  to  each  other — you  know,  what  Sophie 
said  ?  ' 

Nana  did  not  make  any  ceremony.  Only  she  caught 
Madame  Lerat  by  the  neck  and  forced  her  to  descend  a  couple 
of  steps,  in  order  to  repeat  the  remark  to  her  in  a  whisper. 
Her  aunt  said  nothing,  but  opened  her  eyes  to  their  fullest 
extent  and  pursed  her  lips.  At  all  events,  she  knew  what  it 
was  now,  and  no  longer  itched  with  curiosity. 

It  was  a  rule  with  the  flower-girls  to  eat  off  their  knees, 
so  as  to  avoid  messing  the  work-table.  They  hastily  bolted 
their  food,  for  eating  bothered  them,  and  they  preferred  to 
spend  the  hour  allowed  for  their  meal  in  watching  the 
passers-by  out  of  the  window,  or  indulging  in  confidential 
chit-chat  in  the  corners.  That  day  they  tried  to  find  out 
what  had  become  of  the  gentleman  who  had  waited  over  the 
way  during  the  morning,  but  he  had  altogether  disappeared. 
Madame  Lerat  and  Nana  glanced  at  each  other,  but  kept 
their  mouths  shut.  It  was  already  ten  minutes  past  one,  and 
the  girls  did  not  seem  at  all  in  a  hurry  to  take  up  their  pliers 
again,  when  Leonie,  with  a  'prrrout,''  such  as  house-painters 
make  use  of  to  call  one  another,  signalled  the  mistress's 
approach.  And  forthwith  they  flopped  down  on  their  chairs 
and  bent  their  heads  over  their  work.  The  next  moment 
Madame  Titreville  came  in,  and  sternly  made  her  usual 
round. 

From  that  day  forward  Madame  Lerat  regaled  herself 
with  her  niece's  first  love  adventure.     She  no  longer  left  her, 

z2 


340  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

but  accompanied  her  morning  and  evening,  bringing  her 
responsibility  well  to  the  fore.  This  somewhat  annoyed 
Nana;  but  all  the  same  she  dilated  with  pride  at  seeing 
herself  guarded  like  a  treasure,  and  the  talk  which  she  and 
her  aunt  carried  on  as  they  went  along  the  streets  with  the 
button  manufacturer  in  the  rear  was  not  of  a  nature  to  do 
her  any  good.  Oh  !  her  aunt  understood  the  feelings  of  the 
heart ;  she  even  compassionated  the  button  manufacturer, 
that  elderly  gentleman,  who  looked  so  respectable  ;  for,  after 
all,  sentimental  feelings  are  more  deeply  rooted  among  people 
of  a  certain  age.  Still  she  watched.  And,  yes,  he  would 
have  to  deal  with  her  if  he  should  attempt  to  speak  to  her 
niece. 

One  evening,  however,  she  herself  approached  the  gentle- 
man, and  plumply  told  him  that  his  conduct  was  most  offen- 
sive. He  bowed  to  her  politely,  without  answering,  like  an 
old  rogue  who  was  accustomed  to  hear  parents  tell  him  to  go 
about  his  business.  She  really  could  not  be  cross  with  him, 
he  was  too  well-mannered.  Then,  turning  to  her  niece,  came 
practical  advice  on  love,  and  all  sorts  of  stories  about  young 
women  who  had  repented  of  their  folly,  which  were  told  in 
such  a  way  that,  far  from  doing  Nana  any  good,  they  only 
disturbed  her  the  more. 

One  day,  however,  in  the  Rue  du  Faubourg-Poissonni^re, 
the  button  manufacturer  ventured  to  thrust  himself  between 
the  aunt  and  the  niece,  and  speak  to  them  ;  whereupon 
Madame  Lerat  was  so  frightened  that  she  told  the  whole 
business  to  her  brother.  Another  row  ensued.  There  was 
a  frightful  uproar  in  the  Coupeaus'  rooms.  To  begin  with, 
the  zinc-worker  gave  Nana  a  hiding.  Then  he  swore  at  her, 
called  her  by  every  vile  name  that  he  could  think  of,  threat- 
ened to  kill  her,  and  finally  told  her  that  she'd  have  to  walk 
straight  henceforth,  for  he'd  keep  a  watch  on  her  himself. 
And  afterwards,  whenever  she  came  home  of  an  evening,  he 
would  turn  her  round,  search  her,  and  hit  her  for  no  reason 
whatever.  On  other  occasions,  when  he  was  in  a  good 
humour,  he  would  deride  her,  make  fun  of  her,  call  her  a 
bag  of  bones,  and  declare  that,  whatever  she  herself  might 
think,  she  was  far  too  unattractive  for  anybody  to  come 
courting  her.  Beaten  for  things  she  did  not  do,  badgered 
with  abominable  charges  couched  in  the  crudest  language, 
Nana  on  her  side  displayed  the  cunnmg  but  rancorous  sub- 
mis  3ion  of  a  hunted  animal. 


NANA  341 

*  Why  don't  you  leave  her  alone  ?  '  repeated  Gervaise,  who 
was  more  reasonable  than  her  husband.  *  You  will  end  by 
sending  her  to  the  bad  by  talking  to  her  about  it  so  much.* 

This  was  quite  true.  Treated  as  she  was,  Nana  felt  more 
and  more  inclined  to  flee  the  paternal  roof.  Coupeau  harped 
on  the  subject  to  such  a  point  that  amidst  such  an  environ- 
ment the  best  of  girls  might  have  stumbled.  At  last,  little 
by  little,  Nana  acquired  some  singular  habits.  One  morning 
her  father  noticed  her  rummaging  in  a  paper  bag  and  rubbing 
something  on  her  face.  It  was  rice  powder,  which,  with 
perverse  taste,  she  was  plastering  on  her  delicate  satin-like 
skin.  But  Coupeau,  asking  her  if  she  were  a  miller's  daughter, 
caught  up  the  paper  bag  and  rubbed  it  over  her  face  violently 
enough  to  graze  her.  On  another  occasion  she  brought  some 
red  ribbon  home  for  the  purpose  of  re-trimming  her  old  black 
hat  which  she  was  so  ashamed  of.  And  thereupon  he  asked 
her  in  a  fury  where  she  had  got  that  ribbon  from.  She 
must  be  either  a  hussy  or  a  thief,  and  perhaps  both  together  1 
Then  on  various  occasions  he  caught  her  with  something 
pretty  in  her  hands — a  cornelian  ring,  a  pair  of  cuffs  with 
lace  edges,  and  finally  one  of  those  gilt  heart-shaped  lockets 
which  girls  hang  at  their  necks.  Coupeau  wanted  to  destroy 
everything  ;  but  Nana  defended  her  property  frantically.  It 
was  hers  ;  a  lady  had  given  it  to  her,  or  else  she  had  obtained 
it  from  a  girl  at  the  workroom  in  exchange  for  something 
else.  As  for  the  locket,  she  asserted  that  she  had  found  it  in 
the  Eue  d'Aboukir.  When  her  father  crushed  it  with  his 
heel,  she  remained  erect  and  pale,  with  clinched  hands,  whilst 
a  feeling  of  revolt  nearly  incited  her  to  spring  upon  him  and 
tear  something  off  him.  For  a  couple  of  years  she  had 
dreamed  of  possessing  that  locket,  and  there  he  had  gone 
and  flattened  it.  No,  she  found  that  too  hard ;  there  must 
be  an  end  of  it  all ! 

Truth  to  tell,  there  was  more  of  a  badgering  propensity 
than  any  impulse  of  rectitude  in  the  manner  by  which  Coupeau 
sought  to  cow  and  rule  Nana.  He  was  often  in  the  wrong, 
and  his  injustice  exasperated  the  girl.  She  at  last  shirked 
the  workshop,  and  when  the  zinc-worker  gave  her  a  hiding 
for  playing  the  truant,  she  declared  that  she  would  not  return 
to  Titreville's  again,  for  she  was  always  placed  next  to 
Augustine,  who  was  of  uncleanly  habits  and  had  a  foul  breath. 
At  this  Coupeau  took  her  himself  to  the  Eue  du  Caire,  and 
requested  the  mistress  of  the  establishment  to  make  a  point 


342  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

of  placing  her  next  to  Augustine,  by  way  of  punishment. 
Every  morning  for  a  whole  fortnight  he  took  the  trouble  to 
come  down  from  the  Barriere  Poissonniere  and  escort  Nana 
to  the  door  of  the  flower-shop.  And  he  remained  for  five 
minutes  on  the  footway  to  make  sure  that  she  had  gone  in. 
One  morning,  however,  while  he  was  drinking  a  glass  with  a 
friend  in  a  wine-shop  in  the  Rue  Saint-Denis,  he  perceived 
the  hussy  darting  down  the  street.  During  the  entire  fort- 
night she  had  been  deceiving  him ;  instead  of  going  into  the 
workroom,  she  would  cHmb  a  storey  higher,  and  sit  dovm  on 
the  stairs,  waiting  there  till  he  had  gone  off.  When  Coupeau 
began  to  cast  the  blame  of  all  this  on  Madame  Lerat,  the 
latter  flatly  replied  that  she  would  not  accept  it.  She  had 
told  her  niece  all  that  she  was  bound  to  tell  her  to  keep  her 
on  her  guard,  and  it  was  not  her  fault  if  the  girl  took  to  her 
own  courses.  She,  Madame  Lerat,  therefore,  washed  her 
hands  of  the  whole  business,  and  would  not  mix  herself  up 
in  it  any  further,  for  she  knew  that  there  was  scandal- 
mongering  in  the  family ;  yes,  folks  had  charged  her  with 
being  the  one  cause  of  Nana's  goings-on,  and  even  of  taking 
a  wicked  delight  in  the  result  of  her  machinations.  However, 
Coupeau  learned  from  Madame  Titreville  herself  that  Nana 
was  led  astray  by  another  workgirl,  Leonie,  who  had  just 
given  up  flower-making  to  lead  a  vicious  life.  As  yet,  no 
doubt,  there  was  no  great  harm  done,  for  Nana  merely 
hankered  for  pastry  and  gadding  about  the  streets ;  but 
prompt  and  proper  steps  were  necessary  to  stay  her  in  her 
downward  course. 

In  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  everybody 
seemed  to  be  acquainted  with  Nana's  elderly  admirer.  Oh  ! 
he  remained  very  polite,  even  a  little  timid,  but  at  the  same 
time  terribly  obstinate,  following  her  about  everywhere  like 
an  obedient  poodle.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  ventured  into 
the  courtyard,  and  one  evening  Madame  Gaudron  actually 
met  him  on  the  stairs.  Then  the  Lorilleux  declared  that  it 
was  perfectly  scandalous,  and  that  they  should  move  if  a  stop 
was  not  put  to  it  all,  for  they  could  no  longer  go  out  without 
finding  some  admirer  waiting  for  their  niece.  The  Boches, 
for  their  part,  pitied  the  poor  gentleman,  such  a  respectable 
one  too,  who  had  unhappily  fallen  in  love  with  a  little  hussy. 
It  was  quite  true  that  he  was  in  business,  they  had  seen  his 
button  manufactory  on  the  Boulevard  de  la  Villette,  in  short 
he  was  a  decided  catch.    Thanks  to  these  particulars,  all  the 


NANA 


343 


people  of  the  neighbourhood,  even  the  Lorilleux  themselves, 
began  to  show  the  greatest  respect  for  the  old  fellow,  when 
he  passed  by,  following  Nana  with  pale  face,  hanging  lips,  and 
grey  beard  becomingly  cropped. 

For  the  first  month  the  girl  was  greatly  amused  with  him. 
He  was  comical  and  no  mistake.  His  legs  were  perfect 
lucifers,  and  he  had  no  more  wool  on  the  top  of  his  head,  no 
hair  at  all  in  fact,  save  four  lank  locks  which  fell  over  his 
neck,  so  that  she  was  always  tempted  to  ask  him  where  his 
hairdresser  Uved. 

However,  on  finding  him  for  ever  following  her,  she  no 
longer  thought  him  funny,  but  became  afraid  of  him.  Often, 
when  she  stopped  in  front  of  a  jeweller's  shop,  she  heard  him 
stammering  something  behind  her.  And  what  he  said  was 
true ;  she  would  have  liked  to  have  had  a  cross  with  a  velvet 
neckband,  or  a  pair  of  tiny  coral  earrings,  so  small,  you  would 
have  thought  them  mere  drops  of  blood.  Moreover,  without 
any  question  of  jewellery,  she  could  not  for  ever  remain  all 
rags  and  tatters  ;  she  was  tired  of  decking  herself  with  such 
refuse  as  she  could  pick  up  in  the  workrooms  of  the  Rue  du 
Caire,  and  in  particular  she  had  seen  quite  enough  of  her 
hat,  that  old  *  caloquet,'  on  which  hung  some  flowers  purloined 
at  Titreville's.  Trotting  along  in  the  mud,  splashed  by 
passing  vehicles  and  dazed  by  the  display  in  the  shop  windows, 
she  often  longed  to  be  well  dressed,  to  eat  in  the  restaurants, 
to  go  to  the  theatre,  to  have  a  home  of  her  own  with  hand- 
some furniture.  At  times  she  paused,  pale  with  desire, 
hungering  to  partake  of  some  of  the  enjoyment  which  she 
elbowed  in  the  crowd  on  the  footways.  And  at  those  very 
moments  the  old  gentleman  would  whisper  in  her  ear. 
Yet  Nana  did  not  stumble.  Fear,  revolt,  disgust  lent  her 
timely  strength,  vicious  though  she  was. 

However,  when  the  winter  arrived,  life  became  impossible 
at  home.  The  girl  received  her  hiding  every  night.  When 
her  father  was  tired  of  beating  her,  her  mother  smacked  her 
to  teach  her  how  to  behave.  And  very  often  there  was  a 
general  set-to ;  as  soon  as  one  of  them  began  to  beat  her,  the 
other  took  her  part,  and  all  three  of  them  ended  by  rolling  on 
the  tiled  floor  amidst  the  broken  crockery.  And  with  all  this 
there  were  short  commons,  and  they  shivered  with  cold. 
Whenever  the  girl  bought  anything  pretty,  a  bow  or  a  pair 
of  sleeve-links,  her  parents  confiscated  the  purchase  and 
drank  what  they  could  get  for  it.     She  had  nothing  of  her 


344  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

own,  excepting  her  daily  allowance  of  blows  before  coiling 
herself  up  in  her  ragged  sheet,  and  shivering  under  her  little 
black  skirt,  which  she  stretched  over  her  by  way  of  a  blanket. 
Ah !  that  cursed  life  could  not  continue ;  she  was  not  going 
to  let  it  kill  her.  Her  father  had  long  since  ceased  to  count 
for  her;  when  a  father  gets  drunk  as  hers  did,  he  is  no 
longer  a  father,  but  simply  a  dirty  noxious  beast  that  one 
longs  to  get  rid  of.  And  now,  too,  her  mother  was  going 
down-hill  in  her  esteem,  for  she  drank  as  well.  Yes,  Gervaise 
liked  to  go  and  fetch  her  husband  at  old  Colombe's,  in  order 
to  be  treated ;  and  she  sat  down  there  right  willingly  with 
none  of  that  air  of  disgust  which  she  had  assumed  on  the 
first  occasion.  Nowadays  she  would  drain  her  glass  at  a 
gulp,  drag  her  elbows  over  the  tables  for  hours,  and  only  leave 
the  place  when  her  eyes  were  starting  from  her  head. 

When  Nana  passed  the  *  Assommoir '  and  saw  her  mother 
inside,  with  her  nose  in  her  glass,  fuddled  amidst  all  the  dis- 
puting men,  she  was  stirred  with  frantic  anger ;  for  youth, 
which  has  other  thoughts  uppermost,  does  not  understand 
drink.  On  those  evenings  she  beheld  a  pretty  sight :  father 
drunk,  mother  drunk,  a  hell  of  a  home  that  stunk  of  liquor, 
and  where  there  was  no  bread.  To  tell  the  truth,  a  saint 
would  not  have  stayed  in  the  place.  So  much  the  worse  if 
she  were  some  day  to  take  French  leave ;  her  parents  might 
say  their  mea  culpa,  and  confess  that  they  themselves  had 
forced  her  out  of  the  house.  Herein  lies  yet  another  of  the 
consequences  of  Drink. 

One  Saturday  when  Nana  came  home  she  found  her  father 
and  her  mother  in  a  shameful  condition.  Coupeau,  who 
had  fallen  across  the  bed,  was  snoring.  Gervaise,  crouch= 
ing  on  a  chair,  was  swaying  her  head,  with  her  eyes  vaguely 
and  threateningly  staring  into  vacancy.  She  had  forgotten  to 
warm  the  dinner — the  remains  of  a  stew.  A  tallow  dip  which 
she  had  neglected  to  snuff  revealed  the  shameful  wretchedness 
of  the  room. 

'It's  you,  is  it,  you  caterpillar?'  stammered  Gervaise. 
*  Ah  well,  your  father  will  give  you  a  nice  dance.' 

Nana  did  not  answer,  but  remained  quite  pale,  looking  at 
the  cold  stove,  the  table  on  which  no  plates  were  laid,  the 
whole  lugubrious  hovel  in  which  that  pair  of  sots  set  the  pale 
horror  of  their  drunken  stupor.  She  did  not  take  off  her  hat, 
but  walked  round  the  room ;  then,  with  her  teeth  tightly  set, 
she  opened  the  door  and  went  out. 


NANA  345 

*  You  are  going  down  again  ? '  asked  her  mother,  who  was 
unable  even  to  turn  her  head. 

'  Yes  ;  I've  forgotten  something.  I  shall  come  up  again. 
Good-evening.' 

And  she  did  not  return.  On  the  morrow  when  the  Cou- 
peaus  were  sobered  they  fought  together,  reproaching  each 
other  with  being  the  cause  of  Nana's  flight.  Ah  I  she  was 
far  away  if  she  were  running  still !  As  children  are  told  of 
sparrows,  her  parents  might  set  a  pinch  of  salt  on  her,  and 
then  perhaps  they  would  manage  to  catch  her.  It  was  a 
great  blow,  and  fell  heavily  indeed  on  Gervaise,  for,  despite 
the  impairment  of  her  faculties,  she  realised  perfectly  well 
that  her  daughter's  misconduct  lowered  her  still  more ;  she 
was  alone  now,  with  no  child  to  respect,  nothing  to  restrain 
her  from  sinking  to  the  lowest  depth.  Yes,  the  heartless 
creature  had  carried  the  last  remnants  of  her  mother's  pride 
away  with  her.  And  for  three  successive  days  Gervaise  drank 
to  intoxication's  point,  furious,  clenching  her  fists  and  pouring 
forth  abominable  words  respecting  her  hussy  of  a  daughter. 
Coupeau,  after  rolling  round  the  outer  Boulevards,  and  look- 
ing at  every  woman  who  passed,  as  if  trying  to  find  Nana 
among  them,  took  to  smoking  his  pipe  again  quietly  enough ; 
only,  when  he  was  sitting  at  table  at  meal-time,  he  often 
sprang  to  his  feet,  raising  his  arms  in  the  air  with  a  knife  in 
his  hand,  and  crying  out  that  he  was  dishonoured,  after  which 
he  would  sit  down  again  to  finish  his  soup. 

In  the  house,  where  girls  flew  off  every  month  like  canaries 
whose  cages  are  left  open,  nobody  was  astonished  at  the 
Coupeaus'  mishap.  But  the  Lorilleux  were  triumphant.  Ah  ! 
they  had  predicted  that  the  girl  would  end  in  that  way.  It 
was  deserved  ;  all  artificial  flower-girls  went  to  the  bad.  The 
Boches  and  the  Poissons  also  sneered,  with  an  extraordinary 
display  of  virtue.  Lantier  alone  covertly  defended  Nana. 
No  doubt,  said  he,  with  his  puritanical  air,  a  girl  who  behaved 
hke  that  offended  against  every  law ;  but,  dash  it  I  Nana  was, 
after  all,  too  pretty  to  lead  such  an  abominable  life  of  misery 
at  her  age. 

Then  the  Lorilleux  began  to  insinuate  the  most  abomin- 
able things  against  Gervaise.  She,  they  said,  was  responsible 
for  her  daughter's  misfortune ;  she  had  been  in  league  with 
the  old  gentleman ;  that  was  why  he  had  so  often  prowled 
round  the  house.  That  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  was 
certain,  for  some  neighbours  had  seen  him  and  Nana  together 


346  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

at  the  Ambigu  Theatre.  Then  the  Lorilleux*  accusations 
were  discussed,  and  before  long  the  most  respectable  folks 
repeated  that  Gervaise  had  sold  her  daughter. 

Gervaise  now  shuffled  along  in  her  slippers,  without  caring 
a  rap  for  any  one.  You  might  have  called  her  a  thief  in  the 
street,  she  wouldn't  have  turned  round.  For  a  month  past 
she  had  ceased  to  work  at  Madame  Pauconnier's ;  the  latter 
had  been  obliged  to  dismiss  her  to  avoid  disputes.  Then  in 
the  course  of  a  few  weeks  she  had  entered  the  service  of  eight 
laundresses  in  turn  ;  at  each  establishment  she  had  done  two 
or  three  days'  work,  and  then  had  got  the  sack,  so  badly  did 
she  iron  the  things  entrusted  to  her,  careless  and  dirty  as  she 
had  become,  losing  her  head  to  such  a  point  that  she  quite 
forgot  her  calling.  At  last,  realising  her  own  incapacity,  she 
gave  up  ironing,  and  went  out  washing  by  the  day  at  the 
wash-house  in  the  Rue  Neuve,  where  she  managed  to  jog  on, 
floundering  about  in  the  water,  fighting  with  filth,  reduced 
to  the  roughest  but  easiest  work,  and  yet  a  bit  lower  on 
the  down-hill  slope.  However,  the  wash-house  work  scarcely 
beautified  her.  She  looked  like  a  mud-splashed  dog  when 
she  came  out  of  it,  soaked,  and  showing  her  blue  skin.  And 
at  the  same  time,  she  grew  stouter  and  stouter,  in  spite  of 
her  frequent  dances  before  the  empty  sideboard,  while  her  leg 
became  so  crooked  that  she  could  no  longer  walk  beside  any 
one  without  risk  of  knocking  him  over,  to  such  a  degree  did 
she  lurch  from  side  to  side. 

Naturally  enough,  when  a  woman  falls  to  this  point,  all 
her  pride  forsakes  her.  Gervaise  had  cast  aside  all  her  old 
self-respect,  coquetry,  need  of  sentiment,  propriety,  and  polite- 
ness. You  might  have  kicked  her,  she  would  not  have  felt  it, 
she  had  become  too  bloated  and  flabby.  Lantier's  intrigue 
with  her  had  now  altogether  come  to  an  end,  and  she  did  not 
seem  to  notice  this  finish  of  a  long  connection.  Even  Lantier's 
intimacy  with  Virginie  left  her  calm,  so  great  was  her  in- 
difference to  everything.  The  whole  neighbourhood  was  now 
aware  that  Madame  Poisson  had  replaced  Gervaise  in  the 
hatter's  affections.  And  everybody  laughed  at  it,  particu- 
larly because  Poisson  happened  to  be  a  policeman.  People 
thought  it  a  huge  joke  that  a  minion  of  a  hateful  Govern- 
ment should  be  disgraced.  Besides,  Lantier  had  conquered 
the  corner.  He  had  recently  eaten  a  washerwoman  out  of 
doors  ;  now  he  was  nibbling  at  a  grocer's  business  ;  and  if  he 
chose  to  turn  to  the  dressmakers  and  drapers  and  stationers, 


NANA  347 

he  had  jaws  that  opened  wide  enough  to  swallow  them  all  in 
turn. 

Never  had  a  man  rolled  ahout  in  sweetmeats  as  he  did. 
He  had  thought  of  himself  when  advising  Virginie  to  deal  in 
dainties.  He  was  too  much  of  a  Provengal  not  to  adore 
sugared  things ;  in  fact,  he  could  have  Uved  off  lozenges, 
pastilles,  sugared  almonds,  and  chocolate.  Sugared  almonds, 
especially,  left  a  httle  froth  on  his  lips,  so  keenly  did  they 
tickle  his  palate.  For  a  year  he  had  fed  on  sweetmeats.  He 
opened  the  drawers  and  indulged  in  a  private  orgie,  whenever 
Virginie  asked  him  to  mind  the  shop.  Often,  when  he  was 
talMng  in  presence  of  five  or  six  people,  he  would  remove 
the  Md  from  a  glass  jar  on  the  counter,  dip  his  hand  in,  and 
begin  to  nibble  at  something  sweet ;  the  jar  remained  open, 
and  its  contents  diminished.  People  ceased  paying  attention 
to  this  practice;  it  was  a  mania  of  his,  so  he  declared. 
Besides,  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  feign  an  everlasting  cold,  an 
irritation  of  the  throat,  which  he  always  talked  of  calming. 

He  still  did  no  work,  but  he  had  more  and  more  important 
schemes  than  ever  in  view.  For  the  nonce  he  was  nursing  a 
superb  invention — the  umbrella-hat,  a  hat  which  transformed 
itself  into  a  gingham  on  your  head  as  soon  as  a  shower  began 
to  fall ;  and  he  promised  Poisson  half  shares  in  the  profits 
of  it,  and  even  borrowed  twenty-franc  pieces  of  him  to  defray 
the  cost  of  experiments.  Meanwhile,  the  shop  was  melting 
away  on  his  tongue.  The  whole  stock-in-trade  followed  suit, 
down  to  the  chocolate  cigars  and  the  pipes  in  pink  caramel. 
Whenever  he  was  stuffed  with  sweetmeats,  and  in  a  fit  of 
tenderness  kissed  the  groceress  in  a  corner,  she  found  him  all 
sugar,  with  lips  savouring  of  burnt  almonds.  Yes,  indeed, 
he  was  a  delightful  man  to  kiss  !  He  was  positively  becoming 
all  honey.  The  Boches  declared  that  he  could  sweeten  his 
coffee  by  merely  dipping  his  finger  into  it. 

Softened  by  his  everlasting  dessert,  Lantier  showed  him- 
self paternal  towards  Gervaise.  He  gave  her  advice  and 
scolded  her  because  she  no  longer  Hked  work.  The  deuce, 
indeed  1  a  woman  of  her  age  ought  to  know  how  to  get  along. 
And  he  accused  her  of  having  always  been  a  glutton.  Never- 
theless, as  one  ought  to  hold  out  a  helping  hand,  even  to 
folks  who  don't  deserve  it,  he  tried  to  find  her  a  little  work, 
and  prevailed  on  Virginie  to  let  her  come  once  a  week  to 
scrub  the  shop  and  the  rooms.  Potash  water  was  in  her  line, 
and  on  each  occasion  she  earned  her  thirty  sous.   She  arrived 


348  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

on  tlie  Saturday  morning  with  a  pail  and  a  scrubbing  brush, 
apparently  free  from  all  suffering  at  having  to  perform  a 
dirty,  humble,  menial  duty,  a  charwoman's  work,  in  the  very 
place  where  she  had  once  reigned  as  a  beautiful  fair-haired 
mistress.  It  was  a  final  humiliation,  the  very  end  of  her 
pride. 

One  Saturday  she  had  a  hard  job  of  it.  It  had  rained 
for  three  days  previously,  and  the  customers  seemed  to  have 
brought  all  the  mud  of  the  neighbourhood  into  the  shop  on 
the  soles  of  their  boots.  Virginie  was  at  the  counter,  doing 
the  lady,  with  her  hair  well  combed,  a  little  white  collar  round 
her  neck,  and  a  pair  of  lace  cuffs  at  her  wrists.  Beside  her, 
on  the  narrow  seat  covered  with  red  American  cloth,  lolled 
Lantier,  looking  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  were  at  home,  as 
if  he  were  the  real  master  of  the  place,  and  from  time  to  time 
he  carelessly  dipped  his  hand  into  a  jar  of  peppermint  drops, 
just  by  way  of  nibbling  something  sweet  according  to  his 
habit. 

*  I  say,  Madame  Coupeau ! '  exclaimed  Virginie,  who  was 
watching  the  scrubbing  with  compressed  lips,  *  you  have  left 
some  dirt  over  there  in  that  corner.  Scrub  that  rather  better, 
please.' 

Gervaise  obeyed.  She  returned  to  the  corner  and  began 
to  scrub  again.  On  her  knees  amidst  all  the  dirty  water,  she 
bent  nearly  double,  with  her  shoulders  prominent  and  her 
arris  stiff  and  red.  Her  old  skirt,  fairly  soaked,  clung  to  her 
figure.  And  thus  huddled  upon  the  floor,  she  looked  like  a 
dirty,  fat,  ill-combed  drab,  heaving,  swaying,  and  floundering 
about.  To  such  a  point,  too,  did  she  perspire  that  big  drops 
fell  from  her  moist  face. 

*  The  more  elbow  grease  one  uses  the  more  it  shines,' 
said  Lantier  sententiously,  with  his  mouth  full  of  peppermint 
drops. 

Virginie,  who  leant  back  with  the  demeanour  of  a  princess, 
and  eyes  but  partly  open,  was  still  watching  the  scrub- 
bing, and  venting  remarks  :  *  A  little  more  on  the  right  there. 
Take  care  of  the  wainscot.  You  know  I  was  not  very  well 
pleased  last  Saturday.     The  stains  remained.' 

Then  both  together,  the  hatter  and  the  groceress  assumed 
a  more  important  air,  as  if  they  were  on  a  throne  whilst 
Gervaise  dragged  herself  through  the  black  slush  at  their  feet. 
Virginie  must  have  enjoyed  herself,  for  a  yellowish  flame 
darted  from  her  feline  eyes,  and  she  looked  at  Lantier  with 


NANA  349 

an  insidious  smile.  At  last  she  was  revenged  for  that  hiding 
which  she  had  received  at  the  wash-house,  and  which  she  had 
never  forgotten  ! 

However,  whenever  Gervaise  paused  in  her  work,  a  slight 
sound  of  sawing  came  from  the  back  room.  Through  the 
open  doorway,  Poisson's  profile  showed  against  the  pale  light 
of  the  courtyard.  He  was  on  leave  that  day,  and  was  profiting 
by  his  leisure  to  indulge  in  his  mania  for  making  little  boxes. 
Seated  at  a  table,  he  was  very  carefully  cutting  some  ara- 
besques in  a  piece  of  mahogany  taken  from  a  cigar  box. 

*  I  say,  Badinguet  I '  cried  Lantier,  who  had  given  him  this 
surname  again,  out  of  friendship,  *  I  shall  want  that  box  of 
yours  as  a  present  for  a  young  lady.' 

At  this  Virginie  pinched  the  hatter,  without,  however, 
ceasing  to  smile  ;  but  the  policeman  raised  his  head,  showing 
his  red  moustaches  and  imperial  bristling  on  his  pallid  face. 
'  As  it  happens,'  said  he,  *  I  am  working  for  you,  Auguste.  I 
intend  this  as  a  token  of  friendship.' 

'  Oh,  dash  it  1  if  that's  the  case,  I'll  keep  your  little 
affair  I '  rejoined  Lantier  laughing.  *  I'll  hang  it  round  my 
neck  with  a  ribbon.'  Then  all  at  once,  as  if  this  thought 
brought  another  to  his  mind,  he  exclaimed :  '  By  the  way,  I 
met  Nana  last  night.' 

This  news  caused  Gervaise  such  emotion  that  she  sank 
down  in  the  dirty  water  which  covered  the  shop  floor.  Per- 
spiring and  out  of  breath,  with  her  scrubbing  brush  still  in 
her  hand,  she  muttered  '  Ah  I ' 

•  Yes,'  resumed  Lantier ;  *  as  I  was  going  down  the  Eue 
ies  Martyrs,  I  caught  sight  of  a  girl  on  the  arm  of  an  old 
fellow  in  front  of  me,  and  I  said  to  myself :  I  surely  know 
that  damsel !  So  I  stepped  out  and  found  myself  face  to  face 
with  Nana.  She  looked  ever  so  happy,  with  a  pretty  wooUen 
dress  on  her  back  and  a  gold  cross  at  her  neck.' 

'  Ah  !  '  repeated  Gervaise  in  a  huskier  voice. 

Lantier,  who  had  finished  the  pastilles,  took  some  barley- 
sugar  out  of  another  jar.  *  Well,  do  you  know,'  he  resumed, 
'  she  signed  to  me  to  follow  her,  and  after  leaving  the  old 
gentleman  somewhere  in  a  caf6  she  came  and  joined  me  under 
a  doorway.  And  she  was  quite  merry  and  affectionate.  In 
fact  she  kissed  me,  and  wanted  to  have  news  of  everyone.  I 
was  very  pleased  to  meet  her.' 

'  Ah !  '  said  Gervaise,  for  the  third  time,  as  she  drew 
herself  together,  and  stiU  waited.    Hadn't  her  daughter  sent 


350  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

her  a  word  then  ?  In  the  silence  which  ensued  Poisson*s  saw 
could  again  be  heard  grating.  Lantier  was  sucking  his 
barley-sugar,  and  smacking  his  lips. 

*  Well,  if  I  were  to  see  her,  I  should  cross  to  the  other 
side  of  the  street,'  interposed  Virginie,  who  had  just  pinched 
the  hatter  most  ferociously.  *  Yes,  I  should  blush  to  be  recog- 
nised in  public  by  a  girl  like  that.  It  isn't  because  you  are 
there,  Madame  Coupeau,  but  your  daughter  is  a  baggage. 
Why,  Poisson  arrests  girls  who  are  no  better  than  she  is.' 

Gervaise  said  nothing,  nor  did  she  move  ;  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  space.  At  last,  however,  she  began  to  wag  her  head 
to  and  fro,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  thoughts,  while  Lantier, 
with  a  chuckle,  remarked  : 

*  A  baggage  1  Well,  all  I  know  is  that  she  looked  as 
tender  as  a  chicken.' 

At  this  Virginie  glared  at  him  so  threateningly  that  he 
deemed  it  wise  to  pacify  her  by  some  delicate  attention.  It 
occurred  to  him  to  thrust  a  stick  of  barley -sugar  into  her 
mouth,  at  which  she  laughed  at  him  good-naturedly,  and 
turned  all  her  anger  upon  the  charwoman.  '  Just  make 
haste,  eh?  The  work  doesn't  advance  whilst  you  remain 
stuck  there  like  a  street  post.  Come,  look  alive,  I  don't  want 
to  flounder  about  in  the  water  till  night  time.'  And  she 
added,  spitefully,  in  a  lower  tone,  *  It  isn't  my  fault  if  her 
daughter's  gone  to  the  bad.' 

Gervaise  apparently  did  not  hear  her.  She  had  begun  to 
scrub  the  floor  again,  bending  low,  and  dragging  herself 
along  with  frog-like  motion.  With  both  hands  tightly  clutch- 
ing the  brush,  she  drove  back  the  dirty  water  which  splashed 
her  even  to  the  hair.  However,  when  it  had  been  swept  into 
the  gutter,  she  only  had  to  rinse  the  floor. 

After  a  pause  Lantier,  who  felt  bored,  raised  his  voice 
again.  *Do  you  know,  Badinguet,'  he  cried,  *I  met  your 
Emperor  yesterday  in  the  Eue  de  Rivoli.  He  looked  awfully 
down.  He  hasn't  six  months'  life  left  in  his  body,  which 
isn't  surprising,  given  the  existence  he  leads ' 

The  policeman  did  not  raise  his  eyes,  but  curtly  answered, 
'  If  you  were  the  Government  you  wouldn't  be  so  fat.' 

*  Oh,  my  dear  fellow,  if  I  were  the  Government,'  rejoined  the 
hatter,  suddenly  putting  on  an  air  of  gravity,  *  things  would  go 
on  rather  better  than  they  do,  I  give  you  my  word  for  it.  For 
instance,  take  their  foreign  policy,  why  for  some  time  past  it 
has  been  enough  to  drive  a  fellow  mad.     Ah  I  if  I  only  knew 


NANA  %%\ 

a  journalist  to  inspire  him  with  my  ideas  I  *  He  was  becom- 
ing somewhat  excited,  and  as  he  had  finished  crmiching  his 
barley- sugar,  he  opened  a  drawer  from  which  he  took  a 
number  of  jujubes  which  he  began  to  swallow  before  re- 
suming :  *  Why,  it's  simple  enough.  Before  anything  else 
I'd  give  Poland  her  independence  back,  and  I'd  establish  a 
great  Scandinavian  state  to  keep  the  Giant  of  the  North  at 
bay.  Then  I'd  make  a  republic  out  of  all  the  little  German 
states.  As  for  England,  she's  scarcely  to  be  feared ;  if  she 
budged  ever  so  Uttle,  I  should  send  a  hundred  thousand  men 
to  India.  Add  to  that,  I*d  kick  the  Sultan  back  to  Mecca  and 
the  Pope  to  Jerusalem.  In  that  way,  eh?  Europe  would 
soon  be  clean.    Come,  Badinguet,  just  look  here.' 

He  paused  to  take  five  or  six  more  jujubes,  and  then  went 
on  :  *  Why,  it  wouldn't  take  longer  than  to  swallow  these.' 
And  he  threw  one  jujube  after  the  other  into  his  open 
mouth, 

'  The  Emperor  has  another  plan,'  said  the  policeman, 
after  reflecting  for  fully  a  couple  of  minutes. 

*  Oh,  leave  me  alone  1  '  rejoined  the  hatter.  *  We  know 
what  his  plan  is  1  Europe  doesn't  care  a  curse  for  us. 
Every  evening  the  Tuileries  footmen  pick  your  boss  up 
from  under  the  table.' 

But  Poisson  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and,  stepping  forward, 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  he  said  :  *  You  hurt  me,  Auguste. 
Discuss  matters,  but  don't  indulge  in  personalities.' 

Thereupon  Virginie  intervened,  bidding  them  stop  their 
row.  She  didn't  care  a  fig  for  Europe.  How  was  it  that  two 
friends  like  them  should  always  be  disputing  about  politics  ? 
For  a  minute  they  went  on  mumbling.  Then  the  policeman, 
in  order  to  show  that  he  harboured  no  spite,  produced  the  cover 
of  the  little  box  which  he  had  just  finished.  It  bore  this 
inscription  in  marquetry :  *  To  Auguste,  a  token  of  friend- 
ship.' Thereupon  Lantier,  feeling  exceedingly  flattered, 
lounged  back  and  spread  himself  out  in  such  fashion  that  he 
almost  sat  upon  Virginie.  And  the  husband  gazed  on  the 
scene  in  silence,  without  a  flush  on  his  face  or  a  gleam  in  his 
bleared  eyes.  Still,  every  now  and  then  his  red  moustaches 
bristled  in  a  very  singular  fashion,  which  would  have  cer- 
tainly alarmed  any  other  man  than  Lantier. 

The  latter  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  impudent 
rascals  of  his  class.  As  soon  as  Poisson  had  turned  his 
back  it  occurred  to  him  to  print  a  kiss  on  Madame  Poisson 's 


352  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

left  eye.  As  it  happened,  however,  he  had  forgotten  the 
presence  of  Gervaise.  She  had  just  finished  rinsing  and 
wiping  the  shop,  and  stood  near  the  counter  waiting  for  her 
thirty  sous.  However,  Lantier's  kiss  left  her  perfectly  calm, 
as  if  it  were  something  quite  natural  with  which  she  had  no 
business  to  interfere.  Virginie,  on  her  side,  seemed  rather 
vexed,  and  hastily  threw  the  thirty  sous  upon  the  counter. 
Nevertheless,  Gervaise  remained  there  waiting,  still  palpi- 
tating with  the  effort  she  had  made  in  scrubbing,  and  looking 
as  soaked  and  as  ugly  as  a  dog  fished  out  of  a  sewer. 

*  So  she  didn't  tell  you  anything  ?  '  she  eventually  asked 
the  hatter. 

*  Who  ? '  he  cried.  *  Ah,  yes,  you  mean  Nana.  No, 
nothing  else.  But  what  a  pretty  little  mouth  she  has  I  real 
strawberry  jam.' 

Then  Gervaise  went  ofl;  with  her  thirty  sous  in  her  hand. 
The  holes  in  her  shoes  threw  out  water  like  pumps  ;  indeed, 
they  were  musical  shoes,  and  played  quite  a  tune  as  they 
went  flopping  along  the  pavement,  leaving  behind  them  moist 
traces  of  their  broad  soles. 

In  the  neighbourhood,  the  feminine  bibbers  of  the  same 
class  as  Gervaise  now  related  that  she  drank  to  console 
herself  for  her  daughter's  misconduct.  She  herself,  when 
she  ordered  her  nip  of  spirits  at  the  counter,  would  assume  a 
dramatic  air,  and  toss  the  liquor  into  her  mouth,  with  a  wish 
that  it  might  *  do '  for  her.  And  on  the  days  when  she  came 
home  drunk  she  would  stammer  that  it  was  all  through  grief. 
But  respectable  folks  shrugged  their  shoulders ;  they  knew 
what  that  meant.  A  fine  idea  it  was  to  ascribe  the  effects  of 
the  '  Assommoir's '  liquid  pepper  to  grief ;  at  all  events,  she 
ought  to  have  called  it  bottled  grief.  No  doubt,  at  the 
beginning,  she  had  really  been  affected  by  Nana's  flight.  All 
the  honest  feelings  remaining  in  her  had  revolted  at  the  thought 
of  it.  But  she  was  already  too  degraded  by  drink  to  brood 
over  shame  for  long.  With  her  it  came  and  went.  She 
would  remain  for  a  week  without  once  thinking  of  her  hussy ; 
and  then  suddenly  a  tender  or  an  angry  feeling  would  come 
upon  her,  sometimes  when  she  had  her  stomach  empty,  at 
others  when  it  was  full,  a  furious  longing  to  catch  Nana  in 
some  corner,  where  she  would  perhaps  have  kissed  her,  or 
perhaps  have  beaten  her,  according  to  her  fancy  of  the 
moment. 

And  whenever  these  thoughts  came  over  her,  she  searched 


JVA.VA  353 

the  streets  like  a  gendarme.  Ah,  if  she  had  only  seen  her 
baggage,  how  quickly  she  would  have  brought  her  home 
again  !  As  it  happened,  the  neighbourhood  was  being  turned 
topsy-turvy  that  year.  The  Boulevard  Magenta  and  the 
Boulevard  Ornano  were  being  pierced,  doing  away  with  the 
old  Barriere  Poissonniere,  and  cutting  right  through  the 
outer  Boulevard.  The  district  could  not  be  recognised.  All 
one  side  of  the  Eue  des  Poissonniers  had  been  pulled  down, 
and  from  the  Eue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or  a  large  clearing  could 
now  be  seen,  a  dash  of  sunlight  and  open  air.  In  place  of 
the  gloomy  buildings  which  had  hidden  the  view  in  that 
direction  there  rose  up,  on  the  Boulevard  Ornano,  a  perfect 
monument,  a  six- storey ed  house,  carved  all  over  like  a 
church,  with  large  windows,  whose  embroidered  curtains 
seemed  symbolical  of  wealth.  This  white  house,  standing 
just  in  front  of  the  street,  illumined  it  with  a  jet  of  light  as 
it  were,  and  every  day  it  fomented  discussions  between 
Lantier  and  Poisson.  The  hatter,  indeed,  was  never  tired  of 
talking  about  the  demolitions  of  Paris.  He  accused  the 
Emperor  of  setting  up  palaces  everywhere,  so  as  to  drive  the 
working  classes  into  the  provinces ;  and  the  policeman,  pale 
with  concentrated  anger,  retorted  that  the  Emperor  thought 
of  the  working  classes  before  aught  else,  and  would  raze 
Paris  to  the  ground  if  need  were,  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
procuring  them  employment. 

Gervaise,  for  her  part,  was  extremely  annoyed  by  these 
embellishments,  which  disturbed  her  dark  corner  of  the 
Faubourg.  Her  vexation  came  from  the  circumstance  that 
the  neighbourhood  was  being  embellished  just  as  she  was 
going  downhill  to  ruin.  When  a  person  is  in  the  gutter  he 
doesn't  care  for  a  sunray  to  dart  upon  his  head  ;  and  so,  on 
the  days  when  Gervaise  looked  for  Nana,  it  put  her  into  a 
terrible  rage  to  have  to  stride  over  building  materials,  flounder 
about  on  unfinished  footways,  and  knock  against  temporary 
hoardings.  As  for  the  fine  house  on  the  Boulevard  Ornano 
it  was  altogether  too  much  for  her  patience.  Such  houses  as 
that  were  only  for  creatures  like  Nana. 

However,  she  several  times  had  tidings  of  the  girl.  There 
are  always  ready  tongues  anxious  to  pay  one  a  sorry  com- 
pliment. Yes,  she  had  been  told  that  the  hussy,  like  the 
inexperienced  girl  she  was,  had  abruptly  quitted  the  old 
button  manufacturer  for  some  stripling  or  other  whom  nobody 
knew.     Then  a  little  latw:  other  persons  swore  they  had  seer 

A  A 


354  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

her  kicking  up  her  heels  at  the  '  Grand  Hall  of  Folly/  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Chapelle;  and  at  these  tidings  Gervaise  took  it 
into  her  head  to  frequent  all  the  dancing-places  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. She  never  passed  a  pubhc  ball-room  without 
going  in.  Coupeau  accompanied  her.  At  first  they  merely 
made  the  round  of  the  room,  looking  at  the  girls  who  were 
jumping  about.  But  one  evening,  as  they  had  some  cash, 
they  sat  down  and  ordered  a  large  bowl  of  hot  wine,  with  the 
view  of  regaling  themselves  and  waiting  to  see  if  Nana  would 
turn  up.  Then  a  month  went  by,  and  they  forgot  her,  but 
they  still  patronised  the  balls  for  their  own  amusement, 
finding  a  pleasure  in  looking  at  the  dancers.  With  their 
elbows  resting  on  a  table,  they  would  remain  for  hours  with- 
out exchanging  a  word,  stupid  as  it  were  amidst  the  ceaseless 
quaking  of  the  floor,  and  yet  no  doubt  enjoying  themselves 
as  they  stared  with  pale  eyes  at  the  Barriere  hussies  who 
careered  through  the  stifling  atmosphere  and  ruddy  glow  of 
the  hall. 

It  happened  one  November  evening  that  they  went  into 
the  '  Grand  Hall  of  Folly '  to  warm  themselves.  Out  of  doors 
a  sharp  wind  cut  one  across  the  face.  But  the  hall  was 
crammed.  There  was  a  thundering  big  swarm  inside ;  people 
at  every  table,  people  in  the  centre,  people  up  above — any 
number  of  people.  When  the  Coupeaus  had  twice  made  the 
round  without  finding  a  vacant  table  they  decided  to  remain 
standing  and  wait  till  somebody  should  go  off.  Coupeau  was 
swaying  about  in  a  dirty  blouse,  with  an  old  cloth  cap,  which 
had  lost  its  peak,  flattened  down  on  his  head.  He  stood  there 
in  such  wise  as  to  intercept  the  way,  and  all  at  once  he  saw  a 
short,  scraggy  young  fellow  wipe  his  coat-sleeve  after  elbowing 
him. 

•  I  say ! '  cried  Coupeau  in  a  fury,  as  he  took  his  short 
clay  out  of  his  black  mouth.  *  Can't  you  apologise  ?  You 
play  the  disgusted,  eh  ?  because  a  fellow  wears  a  blouse  1  I'll 
teach  you,  you  scraggy  young  scamp,  that  the  blouse  is  the 
finest  garment  out ;  yes  !  the  garment  of  work.  I'll  wipe  you, 
if  you  hke,  with  my  fists.  Did  one  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing 
— a  ne'er-do-well  insulting  a  workman  ? ' 

Gervaise  tried  to  calm  him,  but  in  vain.  He  drew  him- 
self up  in  his  rags,  in  full  view  of  everybody,  and  struck  his 
blouse,  roaring :  *  There's  a  man's  chest  under  that  1 ' 

Thereupon  the  young  man  dived  into  the  crowd,  mutter- 
ing :  *  What  a  dirty  blackguard  1 ' 


NANA  355 

Coupeau  wanted  to  follow  and  catch  him.  He  wasn't 
going  to  let  himself  be  insulted  by  a  fellow  in  a  coat.  That 
one  wasn't  even  paid  for  I  It  was  some  second-hand  toggery, 
no  doubt,  to  impose  upon  a  girl  with.  If  he  could  catch  the 
chap  again,  he'd  bring  him  down  on  his  knees  and  make  him 
bow  to  the  blouse.  But  the  crush  was  too  great  for  the  zinc- 
worker  to  run  after  the  other;  in  fact,  one  could  scarcely 
walk.  So  Coupeau  and  Gervaise  turned  slowly  round  the 
dancers.  There  were  three  serried  rows  of  sightseers,  whose 
faces  lighted  up  whenever  a  man  sprawled  or  a  woman  kicked 
up  her  heels  ;  and  as  Coupeau  and  Gervaise  were  both  short, 
they  constantly  raised  themselves  upon  tiptoe,  trying  to  see 
something  at  all  events,  if  only  the  chignons  and  hats  which 
were  bobbing  about.  Meantime,  the  cracked  brass  instru- 
ments of  the  orchestra  were  thundering  forth  a  quadrille — a 
perfect  tempest  of  sound,  which  made  the  hall  shake ;  while 
the  dancers,  striking  the  floor  with  their  feet,  raised  a  cloud 
of  dust  which  dimmed  the  brightness  of  the  gas.  The  heat 
was  unbearable. 

*  Look  there  !  *  Gervaise  suddenly  exclaimed. 

*  Look  at  what  ? ' 

*  Why,  at  that  velvet  hat  over  yonder.* 

They  raised  themselves  as  much  as  they  could.  Over 
yonder,  on  the  left  hand,  there  was  an  old  black  velvet  hat 
trimmed  with  ragged,  bobbing  feathers — perfect  hearse's 
plumes,  as  it  were.  The  hat  was  dancing  a  devil  of  a  dance, 
curvetting  and  whirling  round,  diving  down  and  then 
springing  up  again.  Coupeau  and  Gervaise  lost  sight  of  it  at 
times,  as  the  people  around  them  moved  their  heads,  but  all 
at  once  they  saw  it  again,  swaying  farther  off  with  such  droll 
effrontery  that  one  laughed  merely  at  the  sight  of  it,  without 
knowing  what  might  be  underneath. 

*  Well  ? '  asked  Coupeau. 

*  Don't  you  recognise  that  chignon  ?  *  muttered  Gervaise 
in  a  stifled  voice.     '  May  my  head  be  cut  off  if  it  isn't  her.' 

Then  with  one  push  the  zinc-worker  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd.  By  the  name  of  heaven,  yes,  it  was  Nana  !  And 
in  a  nice  pickle,  too  1  She  was  wearing  an  old  silk  dress, 
stained  and  sticky  from  having  wiped  the  tables  of  innume- 
rable drinking  dens,  and  with  flounces  so  torn  that  they  fell 
in  tatters  around  her.  There  wasn't  even  a  scrap  of  a  shawl 
over  her  shoulders ;  no,  there  she  was,  in  bare  bodice,  with 
torn  button-holes.     And  to  think  that  she  had  fallen  to  this 

▲  a2 


3S6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

condition,  merely  for  the  sake  of  some  scoundrel,  who,  doubt- 
less, beat  her !  Nevertheless,  she  had  remained  fresh  and 
pretty,  with  her  hair  as  frizzly  as  a  poodle's,  and  her  mouth 
bright  pink  under  her  big,  comical  hat. 

*  Wait  a  bit,  1*11  make  her  dance !  *  resumed  Coupeau. 
Naturally  enough,  Nana  was  not  on  her  guard.      She 

twisted  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  bending  double  as  if  she 
were  about  to  break  in  halves,  and  then  kicking  up  her  feet  in 
the  most  amazing  style.  There  was  a  crowd  around  her,  and 
she  was  applauded  as,  catching  up  her  skirts  and  quivering 
with  the  movement  of  the  dance,  she  spun  round  and  round 
like  a  v/hipping-top,  till  she  fell  on  the  floor  in  the  posture 
known  as  the  grand  tcart.  But,  rising  to  her  feet,  she  after- 
wards indulged  in  a  modest  little  dance,  undulating  in  won- 
derful style  just  as  her  father  made  his  way  through  the 
throng.  As  he  fell  into  the  very  midst  of  the  pastourelle  he 
disarranged  the  figure,  and  was  cuffed  for  his  pains  by  the 
bystanders,  to  whom  he  shouted :  *  I  tell  you  it's  my 
daughter  !     Let  me  pass.' 

At  that  moment  Nana  was  going  backwards,  sweeping 
the  floor  with  her  flounces,  and  rounding  her  figure.  But  all 
at  once  she  received  a  masterly  kick,  and,  as  she  raised 
herself  in  surprise,  and  recognised  her  father  and  mother, 
she  turned  quite  pale.  It  was  bad  luck  for  her,  and  no 
mistake. 

'  Turn  him  out  I  *  howled  the  dancers,  infuriated  with  the 
zinc-worker's  interference.  But  Coupeau,  who  had  just  re- 
cognised his  daughter's  cavalier  as  the  scraggy  young  man  in 
the  coat,  did  not  care  a  fig  for  what  people  said.  '  Yes,  it's 
us,'  he  roared.  *  Eh  ?  you  didn't  expect  it.  So  we  catch  you 
here  and  with  a  whipper-snapper,  too,  who  insulted  me  just  a 
little  while  ago  ! ' 

However,  Gervaise,  whose  teeth  were  tight  set,  pushed 
him  aside,  exclaiming :  *  Shut  up.  There's  no  need  of  so 
much  explanation.'  And,  forthwith  stepping  forward,  she 
dealt  Nana  a  couple  of  resounding  slaps.  The  first  knocked 
the  feathered  hat  on  one  side,  and  the  second  left  a  red  mark 
on  the  girl's  white  cheek. 

Nana  for  her  part  was  altogether  too  stupefied  either  to 
cry  or  resist.  The  orchestra  continued  playing,  while  the 
crowd,  growing  more  and  more  angry,  repeated,  '  Turn  them 
out !     Turn  them  out !  ' 

*  Come,  make  haste  I '  resumed  Gervaise.    *  Just  walk  in 


NANA  357 

front,  and  don't  try  to  run  olf.  You  shall  sleep  in  prison  if 
you  do.* 

The  scraggy  young  man  had  prudently  disappeared.  Nana 
walked  ahead,  very  stiff  and  still  stupefied  by  her  bad  luck. 
Whenever  she  showed  the  least  unwillingness,  a  cuff  from 
behind  brought  her  back  to  the  direction  of  the  door.  And 
thus  they  went  out,  all  three  of  them,  amid  the  jeers  and 
hisses  of  the  spectators,  whilst  the  orchestra  finished  playing 
the  pastourelle  with  such  a  thunderous  sound  that  the  trom- 
bones seemed  to  be  spitting  bullets. 

Then  the  old  life  began  again.  After  sleeping  for  twelve 
hours  in  her  closet,  Nana  behaved  very  well  for  a  week  or  so. 
She  concocted  herself  a  modest  little  dress,  and  wore  a  cap  with 
strings  tied  under  her  chignon.  Seized,  indeed,  with  remark- 
able fervour,  she  declared  that  she  would  work  at  home, 
where  one  could  earn  what  one  hked  without  hearing  any 
nasty  workroom  talk ;  and  she  secured  some  orders  and 
installed  herself  at  a  table  with  her  tools,  getting  up  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning  on  the  first  few  days  in  order  to  roll 
her  violet  stems.  But  when  she  had  delivered  a  few  gross  of 
them,  she  stretched  her  arms  and  yawned  over  her  work. 
Her  hands  were  cramped,  she  had  lost  the  knack  of  stem 
rolling,  and  she  suffocated,  shut  up  in  this  wise  at  home  after 
indulging  in  so  much  freedom  during  the  previous  six  months. 
Then  the  gum  dried,  the  petals  and  the  green  paper  became 
stained  with  grease,  and  the  flower-dealer  came  three  times 
in  person  to  make  a  fuss  and  claim  his  spoiled  materials. 

For  a  little  while  longer  Nana  jogged  on  there,  constantly 
beaten  by  her  father,  and  wrangling  night  and  morning  with 
her  mother,  when  the  pair  of  them  would  fling  the  most  hor- 
rible words  at  each  other's  head.  It  couldn't  last ;  and, 
indeed,  on  the  twelfth  day  the  hussy  took  herself  off,  with  no 
other  luggage  than  her  modest  dress  and  cap.  The  Lorilleux, 
who  had  pursed  their  lips  on  hearing  of  her  return  and  re- 
pentance, nearly  died  of  laughter  now.  So  this  was  the 
second  performance,  they  said,  eclipse  number  two.  It  was 
really  comical,  for  Nana  took  herself  off  in  such  a  cunning 
style.  Well,  if  the  Coupeaus  wanted  to  keep  her  in  future 
they  would  have  to  shut  her  up  in  a  cage. 

In  presence  of  other  people  the  Coupeaus  pretended  that 
they  were  very  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  girl.  But  in  reality  they 
were  enraged.  However,  rage  can't  last  for  ever,  and  soon 
they  heard  without  blinking  of  Nana's  new  goings  on.    Ger- 


358  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

raise,  indeed,  set  herself  above  scandal,  and  declared  that  she 
wouldn't  even  dirty  her  hand  to  cuff  her  daughter  should  she 
meet  her.  In  fact,  said  she,  she  might  find  her  croaking  on 
the  pavement,  and  none  the  less  would  pass  her  by. 

Nana,  meanwhile,  was  the  success  of  all  the  dancing-halls 
of  the  neighbourhood.  She  was  known  from  the  'Ball  of 
Queen  Blanche  *  to  the  •  Grand  Hall  of  Folly.*  When  she 
entered  the  *  Elys6e-Montmartre '  folks  climbed  upon  the 
tables  to  see  her  do  the  *  sniffing  crawfish '  in  the  pastourelle. 
As  she  had  twice  been  turned  away  from  the  *  Chateau  Eouge ' 
ball,  she  walked  about  the  doorway  waiting  for  acquaintances 
to  escort  her  inside.  The  *  Black  Ball '  on  the  outer  Boule- 
vard and  the  *  Grand  Turk '  in  the  Eue  des  Poissonniers 
were  semi-respectable  places,  where  she  only  went  when  she 
was  fairly  well  dressed.  Of  all  the  jumping  dens  of  the  dis- 
trict, those  which  she  most  preferred  were  the  *  Hermitage 
Ball '  in  a  damp  courtyard  and  *  Robert's  Ball '  in  the  Impasse 
du  Cadran,  two  horrible  little  places,  lighted  by  half  a  dozen 
oil  lamps,  where  the  utmost  freedom  reigned.  And  mean- 
while Nana  had  numerous  ups  and  downs,  underwent  all  sorts 
of  transformations,  now  in  silk  and  satin,  and  now  all  dirt 
and  rags.     Ah  !  she  led  a  fine  life,  and  no  mistake  ! 

On  several  occasions  the  Coupeaus  fancied  they  saw  their 
daughter,  but  they  at  once  turned  their  backs  and  decamped, 
so  as  not  to  be  obliged  to  recognise  her.  They  didn't  care  to  be 
laughed  at  again  by  a  whole  dancing-hall  for  the  sake  of 
bringing  such  a  creature  home.  One  night,  how^ever,  just  as 
they  were  going  to  bed,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
outside  they  found  Nana,  who  had  quietly  come  to  ask  for  a 
shelter  ;  and  in  what  a  state,  good  heavens !  her  head  bare, 
her  dress  in  tatters,  and  her  boots  full  of  holes — such  a  toilet, 
indeed,  as  might  have  led  the  police  to  run  her  in  to  the 
Depot.  Naturally  enough  she  received  a  hiding,  and  then 
she  gluttonously  fell  upon  a  crust  of  stale  bread  and  went  to 
sleep,  worn  out,  with  the  last  mouthful  between  her  teeth. 
And  this  sort  of  life  continued.  When  the  girl  had  picked  up 
a  bit,  she  took  herself  off;  and  then  weeks  and  months 
elapsed  and  she  seemed  lost  until  suddenly  up  she  turned 
again  without  even  saying  whence  she  came,  sometimes  in 
such  a  filthy  state  that  one  wouldn't  have  taken  hold  of  her 
with  a  pair  of  tongs,  at  others  well-dressed  but  so  weakened 
by  riotous  living  that  she  could  no  longer  stand.  Her  parents 
had  to  accustom  themselves  to  it.    Thrashings  were  of  no 


NANA  359 

good.  They  stamped  on  her,  but  that  did  not  prevent  her 
from  looking  on  home  as  an  inn,  where  she  could  lodge  by  the 
week.  She  knew  that  she  should  pay  for  her  lodging  with  a 
hiding,  so  she  thought  the  matter  over  and  came  to  receive  it, 
if  she  considered  it  an  advantage.  Besides,  people  grow  tired 
of  striking,  and  in  the  end  the  Coupeaus  let  Nana  do  as  she 
pleased.  She  came  home  or  stayed  away  ;  provided  she  didn't 
leave  the  door  open  there  was  nothing  to  be  said.  After  all, 
habit  wears  out  self-respect  hke  it  wears  out  everything  else. 

There  was  only  one  thing  that  really  infuriated  Gervaise. 
This  was  to  see  her  daughter  come  home  in  a  dress  with  a 
train  and  a  hat  covered  with  feathers.  No,  she  couldn't  allow 
that  display.  Nana  might  go  her  way  if  she  chose,  but  when 
she  came  home  to  her  mother's  she  ought  to  dress  like  a 
workgirl.  The  dresses  with  trains  caused  quite  a  revolution 
in  the  house  :  the  Lorilleux  sneered ;  Lantier  chuckled  ;  the 
Boches  forbade  Pauline  to  associate  with  such  an  outrageously- 
dressed  creature. 

However,  taunts  and  reproaches  had  even  less  effect  than 
blows.  One  day  when  Gervaise  reproached  Nana  with  the 
terrible  life  she  was  leading,  the  girl  simply  retorted  :  *  That's 
enough,  mamma.  It  would  be  better  not  to  talk  about  the 
matter.    You  did  as  you  liked,  and  now  I  do  as  I  like.' 

*  What !  what !  '  stammered  Gervaise  in  amazement ;  but 
in  the  same  way  as  she  herself  had  once  reproached  Mother 
Coupeau  with  misconduct,  so  Nana  now  reproached  her  with 
her  connection  with  Lantier.  She,  the  girl,  knew  all  about 
it,  and  if  her  mother  had  wished  to  keep  her  in  the  straight 
path  she  ought  not  to  have  set  her  a  bad  example. 

At  this  outburst  Gervaise  remained  pale,  with  trembling 
hands,  turning  round  without  knowing  what  she  was  about, 
while  Coupeau  growled,  no  longer  sane  enough  even  to  think 
of  launching  out  a  blow.  He  was  altogether  losing  his 
mind.  And  really  there  were  no  grounds  for  calling  him  an 
unprincipled  father,  for  liquor  deprived  him  of  all  conscious- 
ness of  good  and  evil. 

It  was  now  a  settled  thing  :  he  wasn't  sober  once  in  six 
months  ;  at  the  end  of  which  period  he  invariably  had  to  go 
to  the  Sainte-Anne  hospital ;  a  pleasure  trip  for  him  as  it 
were.  The  Lorilleux  were  wont  to  say  that  the  Duke  of  Bowel- 
Twister  had  gone  to  visit  his  estates.  After  a  few  weeks,  how- 
ever, he  left  the  asylum,  repaired  and  set  together  again,  and 
then  he  began  to  pull  himself  to  bits  once  more,  till  he  was 


36o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

down  on  his  back  and  needed  another  mending.  In  three 
years  he  went  to  Sainte-Anne  m  this  fashion  seven  times. 
The  neighbours  declared  that  his  cell  was  kept  ready  for  him. 
But  the  worst  of  the  matter  was  that  this  obstinate  tippler 
damaged  himself  more  and  more  each  time,  so  that  from 
relapse  to  relapse  one  could  foresee  the  final  tumble,  the  last 
cracking  of  that  shaky  cask,  every  hoop  of  which  was  in  turn 
breaking  away. 

At  the  same  time,  he  forgot  to  improve  in  appearance ;  he 
was  now  a  perfect  ghost  to  look  at.  The  poison  was  having 
terrible  effects  on  him.  By  dint  of  imbibing  alcohol,  his  body 
shrank,  and  when  he  approached  a  window  you  could  almost 
see  through  his  ribs,  so  thin  had  he  become.  With  sunken 
cheeks,  and  dripping  eyes  from  which  exuded  sufficient  wax 
for  a  set  of  cathedral  tapers,  he  only  kept  his  truffle  nose  red 
and  flowery,  like  a  carnation  blooming  in  the  midst  of  his 
ravaged  face.  Those  who  knew  his  age,  only  forty  years  just 
told,  shuddered  when  he  passed  by,  bent  and  unsteady,  look- 
ing as  old  as  the  streets  themselves.  And  the  trembling  of 
his  hands  increased ;  the  right  one  danced  to  such  an  extent 
that  sometimes  he  had  to  take  his  glass  between  both  paws  to 
carry  it  to  his  lips.  Oh  !  that  fearful  trembling !  it  was  the 
only  thing  that  still  worried  his  addled  brains.  You  could 
hear  him  growling  ferocious  insults  against  those  hands  of 
his.  On  other  occasions  you  might  see  him  silently  contem- 
plating them  for  hours,  watching  them  dance  like  frogs,  no 
longer  angry,  but  looking  rather  as  though  he  were  trying  to 
discover  what  internal  mechanism  made  them  bob  up  and 
down  like  that ;  and  one  evening  Gervaise  found  him  thus 
occupied  with  two  big  tears  dripping  down  his  withered 
cheeks. 

The  last  summer  during  which  Nana  still  lodged  on  and 
off  with  her  parents,  was  a  particularly  bad  one  for  Coupeau. 
His  voice  changed  entirely  as  if  liquor  had  set  a  new  music  in 
his  throat.  He  became  deaf  of  one  ear,  and  then  in  a  few 
days  his  sight  grew  dim,  and  on  the  stairs  he  had  to  clutch 
hold  of  the  balusters  to  prevent  himself  from  falling.  At  the 
same  time,  he  had  abominable  headaches  and  fits  of  dizziness. 
All  at  once  he  would  feel  acute  pains  in  his  arms  and  legs, 
turn  pale,  and  be  obliged  to  sit  down,  and  remain  on  a  chair 
witless  for  hours.  Indeed,  after  one  such  attack,  his  arm 
remained  paralysed  for  the  whole  day.  He  took  to  his  bed 
several  times,  rolled  himself  up  in  it,  and  hid  himself  under 


NANA  361 

the  sheet,  breathing  hard  and  continuously  like  a  suffering 
animal.  Then  the  strange  scenes  of  Sainte-Anne  began 
again.  Suspicious  and  nervous,  a  prey  to  a  burning  fever,  he 
rolled  about  in  a  mad  rage,  tearing  his  blouse  and  biting  the 
furniture  with  his  convulsed  jaws ;  or  else  he  sank  into  a 
great  state  of  emotion,  complaining  like  a  child,  sobbing  and 
lamenting  because  nobody  loved  him.  One  night  when  Ger- 
vaise  and  Nana  returned  home  together  they  were  surprised 
not  to  find  him  in  bed.  He  had  laid  the  bolster  in  his  place  ; 
and  when  they  discovered  him,  hiding  between  the  bed  and 
the  wall,  his  teeth  were  chattering,  and  he  related  that  some 
men  had  come  to  murder  him.  The  two  women  were  obliged 
to  put  him  to  bed  again  and  quiet  him  like  a  child. 

For  all  this  Coupeau  only  knew  one  remedy,  which  was  to 
screw  a  pint  of  spirits  inside  him,  a  whack  in  his  stomach, 
which  set  him  up  again.  This  was  how  he  doctored  himself 
every  morning.  His  memory  had  left  him  long  ago,  his  brain 
was  empty  ;  and  he  no  sooner  found  himself  on  his  feet  than 
he  poked  fun  at  illness.  He  had  never  been  ill,  he  often  said. 
Yes,  he  had  reached  the  point  when  a  man  croaks  while 
declaring  that  he  is  perfectly  well.  And  his  wits  were  going 
a-wool-gathering  in  other  respects  too.  When  Nana  came 
home  after  gadding  about  for  six  weeks  or  so,  he  seemed  to 
fancy  that  she  had  simply  returned  from  doing  some  errand 
in  the  neighbourhood.  Often  when  she  was  hanging  on  an 
acquaintance's  arm  she  met  him  and  laughed  at  him  without 
his  recognising  her.  In  short,  he  no  longer  counted  for  any- 
thing ;  she  might  have  sat  down  on  him  if  she  had  been  at  a 
loss  for  a  chair. 

It  was  when  the  first  frosts  came  that  Nana  took  herself  off 
once  more,  this  time  under  the  pretence  of  going  to  the  fruiterer's 
to  see  if  there  were  any  baked  pears.  She  scented  winter,  and 
didn't  want  to  let  her  teeth  chatter  in  front  of  the  fireless 
stove.  The  Coupeaus  simply  called  her  bad  names  because 
they  had  waited  for  the  pears.  No  doubt  she  would  come 
back  again  in  due  course.  The  other  winter  she  had  stayed 
away  three  weeks  just  to  fetch  her  father  a  screw  of  tobacco. 
But  the  months  went  by,  and  the  girl  did  not  show  herself. 
This  time  she  must  have  indulged  in  a  hard  gallop.  When 
June  arrived,  she  did  not  even  put  in  an  appearance  with  the 
sunshine.  Evidently  it  was  all  over,  she  had  found  new 
bread  somewhere  or  other.  And  so,  one  day  when  the 
Coupeaus  were  hard-up  they  sold  her  iron  bedstead  for  six 


362  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

francs  down,  which  they  spent  in  drink  at  Saint-Ouen.  The 
bedstead  had  been  in  their  way,  they  said. 

A  little  later,  one  morning  in  July,  Virginie  called  to  Gervaise, 
who  was  passing,  and  asked  her  to  lend  a  hand  in  the  washing 
up,  for  Lantier  had  entertained  a  couple  of  friends  on  the 
previous  evening.  And  while  Gervaise  was  cleaning  the 
plates  and  dishes,  greasy  with  the  traces  of  the  spread,  the 
hatter,  who  was  still  digesting  his  food  in  the  shop,  suddenly 
called  out:  *I  say,  do  you  know  I  saw  Nana  the  other 
day  ? ' 

Virginie,  who  sat  at  the  counter,  looking  very  careworn  in 
front  of  the  jars  and  drawers  which  were  already  three  parts 
emptied,  jerked  her  head  in  a  temper.  She  considered  that 
Lantier  met  Nana  much  too  often.  Madame  Lerat,  very 
intimate  just  then  with  Virginie  who  confided  in  her,  had  that 
moment  entered  the  shop  ;  and  she,  in  her  usual  free  way, 
more  than  hinted  her  suspicions. 

'  Oh  I '  answered  the  hatter,  who  began  to  laugh  and 
twirl  his  moustaches.  *  She  was  in  a  vehicle ;  and  I  was 
floundering  on  the  pavement.  It  really  was  so,  I  swear  it !  * 
and  turning  towards  Gervaise,  who  was  standing  in  the  rear 
of  the  shop  wiping  a  dish,  he  went  on  :  '  Yes,  she  was  in  a 
carriage,  and  wore  such  a  stylish  dress !  I  myself  didn't 
recognise  her  at  first,  she  looked  so  much  like  a  lady  of  the 
upper  set,  with  her  white  teeth  in  her  fresh  face.  It  was  she 
who  waved  her  glove  to  me.  She  has  fascinated  a  viscount, 
I  believe,  and  can  afford  to  do  without  any  of  us  now  I  What 
a  love  of  a  little  kitten  she  looked!  Ahl  you've  no  idea 
what  a  little  kitten  she  seemed  ! ' 

Gervaise  was  still  wiping  her  dish,  although  it  had  long 
since  been  clean  and  shiny.  Virginie  was  reflecting,  anxious 
about  a  couple  of  acceptances  which  would  mature  on  the 
morrow,  and  which  she  didn't  know  how  to  pay;  whilst 
Lantier,  stout  and  fat,  went  on  venting  his  enthusiasm  for  well- 
dressed  little  hussies  in  the  centre  of  the  shop,  which  was 
already  three  parts  eaten  up,  and  smelt  of  ruin.  Yes,  there 
were  only  a  few  more  burnt  almonds  to  nibble,  a  few  more 
sticks  of  barley-sugar  to  suck,  and  the  Poissons'  business  would 
be  cleaned  out.  Suddenly,  on  the  pavement  over  the  way,  the 
hatter  perceived  the  policeman  pass  by  on  duty,  with  his 
sword  dangling  by  his  side.  And  this  made  him  all  the  gayer. 
He  compelled  Virginie  to  glance  at  her  husband.  'Dear 
me,'  he  muttered,  *  Badinguet  has  a  wonderfully  fine  appear- 


NANA  363 

ance  iliis  morning  !  He  looks  as  if  he  had  stuck  a  glass  eye 
in  his  back  so  as  to  catch  his  criminals  unawares.* 

When  Gervaise  went  home  upstairs,  she  found 
Coupoau  sitting  on  the  bed,  in  the  torpid  state  induced  by 
one  oJf  his  attacks.  He  was  looking  at  the  tiled  floor  with 
dim  expressionless  eyes.  She  seated  herself  on  a  chair  tired 
out,  her  hands  hanging  beside  her  dirty  skirts  \  and  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  she  remained  in  front  of  him  without 
saying  a  word.  *  I've  had  some  news,'  she  muttered  at  last. 
*  Your  daughter's  been  seen.  Yes,  your  daughter's  precious 
stylish  and  has  no  more  need  of  you.  She's  awfully  happy 
she  is  I  Ah !  God  of  heaven !  I'd  give  a  great  deal  to  be 
in  her  place.' 

Coupeau  was  still  staring  at  the  tiled  floor.  But  suddenly 
he  raised  his  ravaged  face,  and  stammered  with  an  idiotic 
laugh  :  *  Oh  I  my  duck,  if  it  pleases  you,  you  know,  I  won't 
detain  you.  You're  not  as  yet  so  bad-looking  when  you  wash 
yourself,* 


xn 

HUNGBB 

It  must  have  been  the  Saturday  after  quarter  day,'  something 
like  the  12th  or  13th  January — Gervaise  didn't  quite  know. 
She  was  losing  her  wits,  for  it  was  centuries  since  she  had  had 
anything  warm  in  her  stomach.  Ah  I  what  an  infernal  week 
it  had  been  !  A  complete  clear  out.  Two  loaves  each  of  four 
pounds'  weight  on  Tuesday,  which  had  lasted  till  the 
Thursday ;  then  a  dry  crust  found  the  previous  night,  and 
finally  not  a  crumb  for  thirty- six  hours,  a  real  dance  before 
the  cupboard  !  What  she  did  know,  by  the  way,  what  she  felt 
on  her  back,  was  the  frightful  cold,  a  black  cold,  with  a  sky 
as  grimy  as  a  frying-pan,  thick  with  snow  which  obstinately 
refused  to  fall.  When  one  feels  both  winter  and  hunger 
inside  one,  tightening  one's  waistband  can  scarcely  serve  as 
food. 

Perhaps  Coupeau  would  bring  back  some  money  in  the 
evening.  He  had  said  that  he  was  working.  Everything 
is  possible,  is  it  not  ?    And  Gervaise,  although  she  had  been 

*  At  the  winter  quarter  in  Paris  rents  under  20Z.  per  annum  are 
payable  on  January  8,  above  that  amount  on  January  15. 


364  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

caught  many  and  many  a  time,  had  ended  by  relying  on  this 
cash.  After  all  sorts  of  troubles,  she  herself  couldn't  find  as 
much  as  a  duster  to  wash  in  the  whole  neighbourhood  ;  and 
even  an  old  lady,  whose  rooms  she  cleaned,  had  just 
dismissed  her  after  charging  her  with  swilling  her  liqueurs. 
Yes,  nobody  would  engage  her,  things  w^ere  too  hot  for  her 
everywhere :  and  this  secretly  suited  her,  for  she  had  fallen 
to  that  state  of  bestial  indifference,  when  one  prefers  to  croak 
rather  than  move  one's  fingers.  At  all  events,  if  Coupeau 
should  bring  his  pay  home  they  would  have  something  warm 
to  eat.  And  meanwhile,  as  it  wasn't  yet  noon,  she  remained 
on  the  mattress,  for  one  doesn't  feel  so  cold  or  so  hungry 
when  one  is  lying  down. 

Gervaise  called  it  a  mattress,  but  truth  to  tell,  it  was 
merely  a  heap  of  straw  in  the  corner.  By  degrees  the 
bedding  had  found  its  way  to  the  second-hand  furniture 
dealers  in  the  neighbourhood.  First  of  all,  on  penniless 
days,  she  had  unsewn  the  woollen  mattress,  and  taken 
out  handfuls  of  wool  which  she  had  hidden  in  her  apron,  and 
sold  for  ten  sous  a  pound  in  the  Rue  Belhomme.  Then, 
when  the  mattress  was  emptied,  she  had  obtained  thirty  sous 
for  the  ticking  one  morning,  so  as  to  treat  herself  to  some 
coffee.  The  pillows  had  followed,  and  then  the  bolster. 
There  remained  the  wooden  framework  of  the  bed,  which  she 
couldn't  put  under  her  arm  on  account  of  the  Boches,  who 
would  have  called  everyone  in  the  house  to  the  spot  if  they 
had  seen  the  landlord's  guarantee  going  off. 

And  yet,  one  evening,  with  Coupeau' s  assistance,  she 
watched  the  Boches,  and  as  they  were  busy  gorging,  she 
quietly  removed  the  bedstead,  bit  by  bit,  the  sides,  the 
front  and  back,  and  the  framework  at  the  bottom.  With  the 
ten  francs  thus  procured  they  fed  for  three  days.  Didn't 
the  straw  mattress  suffice?  Even  its  ticking  soon  joined 
that  of  the  woollen  one,  and  so  thus  they  finished  eating  up 
their  sleeping  accommodation,  allowing  themselves  an  indi- 
gestion of  dry  bread  after  a  twenty-fou]:  hours'  starve.  The 
straw  was  swept  aside  with  a  broom,  the  dust  was  always 
turned  over,  and  it  wasn't  dirtier  than  anything  else. 

And  now,  lying  on  the  heap  of  straw,  with  her  clothes  on, 
Gervaise  bent  herself  like  a  gun-trigger,  her  feet  drawn  up  under 
her  rag  of  a  skirt,  by  way  of  keeping  them  warm.  Huddled  up 
in  this  wise,  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  she  dwelt  that  morning 
on  some  scarcely  amusing  thoughts.     Ah !  no,  dash  it  all, 


HUNGER  365 

she  couldn't  continue  living  without  food.  She  no  longer 
felt  her  hunger,  only  she  had  a  weight  on  her  chest,  and  her 
brain  seemed  empty.  Certainly,  there  was  nothing  gay  to 
look  at  in  the  four  corners  of  the  hovel.  It  was  a  perfect 
kennel  now,  where  the  greyhounds,  who  wear  wrappers  in 
the  streets,  would  not  even  have  lived  in  effigy.  Her  pale 
eyes  stared  at  the  bare  walls.  Everything  had  long  since 
gone  to  *  uncle's.*  All  that  remained  were  the  chest  of 
drawers,  the  table,  and  a  chair.  Even  the  marble  top  of  the 
chest  of  drawers,  and  the  drawers  themselves,  had  evaporated 
in  the  same  direction  as  the  bedstead.  A  fire  could  not  have 
cleared  the  place  more  completely.  The  little  nick-nacks  had 
melted,  beginning  with  the  ticker,  a  twelve  franc  watch, 
down  to  the  family  photos,  the  frames  of  which  had  been 
bought  by  a  woman  keeping  a  second-hand  store ;  a  very 
obliging  woman,  by  the  way,  to  whom  Gervaise  would  carry 
a  saucepan,  an  iron,  or  a  comb,  and  receive  five,  three,  or  two 
sous  in  exchange,  according  to  the  article  ;  enough,  at  all 
events,  to  enable  her  to  go  upstairs  again  with  a  bit  of  bread. 
But  now  there  was  nothing  left  excepting  a  broken  pair  of 
snuffers,  for  which  the  woman  had  refused  to  give  her  even 
a  sou. 

Oh  !  if  she  could  only  have  sold  the  rubbish  and  refuse, 
the  dust  and  dirt,  how  speedily  she  would  have  opened  shop, 
for  the  room  was  filthy  to  behold  !  She  saw  plenty  of  cob- 
webs in  the  corners,  but  although  cobwebs  are  perhaps  good 
for  cuts,  there  are,  so  far,  no  merchants  who  buy  them.  So, 
turning  her  head,  relinquishing  the  idea  of  doing  a  bit  of 
trade,  Gervaise  gathered  herself  together  more  closely  on  her 
straw,  preferring  to  stare  through  the  window  at  the  snow- 
laden  sky,  at  the  dreary  dayhght,  which  froze  the  marrow  in 
her  bones. 

What  a  lot  of  worry  !  Though,  after  all,  what  was  the 
use  of  her  putting  herself  in  such  a  state,  and  puzzling  her 
brains  ?  Ah !  if  she  had  only  been  able  to  have  a  snooze. 
But  her  hole  of  a  home  wouldn't  go  out  of  her  mind.  M. 
Marescot,  the  landlord,  had  come  in  person  on  the  previous 
day  to  tell  them  that  he  should  turn  them  into  the  street  if 
the  two  quarters'  rent  now  overdue  were  not  paid  during  the 
ensuing  week.  Well,  so  he  might,  they  certainly  couldn't  be 
worse  off  on  the  pavement !  Just  fancy  that  ape,  in  his  over- 
coat and  his  woollen  gloves,  coming  upstairs  to  talk  to  them 
about  rent,  as  if  they  had  had  a  treasure  hidden  somewhere 


366  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

In  that  case,  instead  of  tightening  her  throat,  she  would  have 
begun  by  stuffing  something  into  her  maw  1  Keally,  now, 
she  found  that  fat  glutton  altogether  too  provoking,  and  she 
wished  him  in  a  nameless  place. 

It  was  just  the  same  way  with  that  brute  of  a  Coupeau, 
who  couldn't  come  home  now  without  beating  her ;  she 
wished  him  in  the  same  place  as  the  landlord.  She  sent 
them  all  thither,  wishing  to  rid  herself  of  everyone,  and  of 
life  too.  She  was  becoming  a  real  storehouse  for  blows. 
Coupeau  had  a  cudgel,  which  he  called  his  donkey's  fan,  and 
he  fanned  his  old  woman.  You  should  have  just  seen  him 
giving  her  a  sweating ;  he  made  her  perspire  all  over.  How- 
ever, she  was  no  better  than  he  was,  for  she  bit  and  scratched 
him.  Then  they  stamped  about  in  the  empty  room,  and  gave 
each  other  such  drubbings  as  were  likely  to  ease  them  for 
good  of  all  appetite  for  bread.  Yet  Gervaise  ended  by  caring 
no  more  for  these  whackings  than  for  anything  else.  Coupeau 
might  celebrate  Saint  Monday  for  weeks  together,  go  off  on 
the  spree  for  months  at  a  time,  come  home  mad  with  liquor, 
and  seek  to  sharpen  her  as  he  said — she  had  grown  so  accus- 
tomed to  it  all  that  she  thought  him  plaguy,  but  nothing 
more.  It  was  on  those  occasions  that  she  wished  him  some- 
where. Yes,  somewhere,  her  beast  of  a  man,  and  the  Loril- 
leux,  the  Boches,  and  the  Poissons  too ;  in  fact,  the  whole 
neighbourhood,  which  treated  her  with  such  contempt.  She 
sent  all  Paris  thither  with  a  gesture  of  supreme  carelessness, 
yet  pleased  to  be  able  to  revenge  herself  in  that  style. 

Unfortunately,  although  people  may  accustom  themselves 
to  a  good  many  things,  nobody  has  yet  been  able  to  acquire 
the  habit  of  never  feeding.  And  it  was  merely  this  that 
irritated  Gervaise.  She  didn't  care  a  fig  whether  she  were 
the  lowest  of  the  low,  fairly  in  the  gutter  ;  it  was  all  the  same 
to  her  if  folks  wiped  themselves  whenever  she  passed  near 
them.  Bad  manners  no  longer  worried  her,  hunger  and  its 
constant  onslaughts  alone  gave  her  cause  for  complaint.  Oh  I 
she  had  bidden  tit-bits  good-bye,  she  had  fallen  to  devouring 
whatever  she  could  get.  On  festive  occasions  nowadays,  she 
bought  parings  and  scraps  of  meat  at  the  butcher's,  at  the  rate 
of  four  sous  a  pound.  It  was  meat  which  was  tired  of  lying 
about  and  blackening  on  a  plate,  and  she  cooked  it  in  a  sauce- 
pan with  a  mess  of  potatoes.  Or  else  she  fried  some  bullock's 
heart,  a  dish  that  made  her  lick  her  lips.  On  other  occasions, 
when  she  had  some  wine,  she  treated  herself  to  a  sop,  a  true 


HUNGER  367 

tippler's  potage.  Two  sous'  worth  of  Italian  cheese,  bushels 
of  white  apples,  quarts  of  dry  beans,  cooked  in  their  own 
juice,  these  were  dainties  she  was  not  often  able  to  indulge  in 
now.  She  came  down  to  the  *  arlequins  '  of  low-eating  deDS, 
where,  for  a  sou,  she  obtained  a  pile  offish  bones, mixed  with 
the  parings  of  spoilt  roast  meat.  She  fell  even  lower,  she 
begged  a  charitable  eating-house  keeper  to  give  her  his 
customers'  dry  crusts,  and  made  herself  a  bread  sop,  letting 
the  crusts  simmer  as  long  as  possible  on  a  neighbour's  fire. 
On  the  days  when  there  was  no  hope  of  anything  she  searched 
about  with  the  dogs,  to  see  what  might  be  lying  outside 
tradespeople's  doors  before  the  dustmen  went  by ;  and  thus, 
at  times,  she  came  across  rich  men's  food :  rotten  melons, 
stinking  mackerel,  and  chops  which  she  carefully  inspected, 
for  fear  of  maggots. 

Yes,  she  had  come  to  that !  The  idea  may  be  a  repugnant 
one  to  delicate-minded  readers,  but  if  they  were  to  chew 
nothing  for  three  days  running,  they  would  not  care  to 
quarrel  with  their  stomachs  ;  they  would  go  down  on  all  fours 
and  eat  filth  like  other  people.  Ah  !  the  death  of  the  poor, 
the  empty  entrails  howling  hunger,  the  animal  appetite  that 
leads  one  with  chattering  teeth  to  fill  one's  stomach  with 
beastly  refuse  in  that  great  city  of  Paris,  so  bright  and  golden ! 
And  to  think  that  Gervaise  had  formerly  gorged  herself  with  fat 
goose !  Now,  she  might  wipe  her  nose  with  what  was  left  of  it. 
One  day,  when  Coupeau  stole  two  bread  tickets  from  her  to  go 
and  sell  them  for  the  purpose  of  getting  some  liquor,  she 
nearly  killed  him  with  a  blow  of  a  shovel,  so  hungered  and  so 
enraged  was  she  by  this  theft  of  a  bit  of  bread. 

However,  after  a  long  contemplation  of  the  pale  sky,  she 
had  fallen  into  a  painful  doze.  She  dreamt  that  the  snow 
filHng  the  sky  was  falling  upon  her,  so  cruelly  did  the  cold 
pinch.  Then  suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  awakened  with 
a  start  by  a  shudder  of  anguish.  Good  heavens !  was  she 
going  to  die  ?  Shivering  and  haggard,  she  perceived  that  it 
was  still  daylight.  Wouldn't  the  night  come  then?  Hov/ 
long  the  time  seems  when  the  stomach  is  empty  !  Hers  was 
waking  up  in  its  turn,  and  beginning  to  torture  her.  Sinking 
on  to  the  one  chair  in  the  room  with  her  head  bowed,  she 
began  to  think  of  what  they  would  have  for  dinner,  as  soon 
as  Coupeau  should  bring  the  money  home  :  a  loaf,  a  quart  of 
wine,  and  two  platefuls  of  tripe  in  the  Lyonnese  fashion.  But 
three  o'clock  struck  by  old  Bazouge's  clock.     Good  heavens  I 


368  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

so  it  was  only  three.  Then  she  began  to  cry.  She  would 
never  have  strength  enough  to  wait  till  seven.  Her  body  swayed 
backwards  and  forwards,  she  oscillated  like  a  child  nursing 
some  sharp  pain,  bending  double  and  crushing  her  stomach, 
so  as  not  to  feel  it.  And  unable  to  ease  herself,  seized  with 
rage,  she  rose  and  stamped  about,  hoping  to  send  her  hunger 
to  sleep  by  walking  it  to  and  fro  like  an  infant.  For  half  an 
hour  or  so,  she  knocked  against  the  four  corners  of  the  empty 
room.  Then,  suddenly,  she  paused  with  a  fixed  stare.  So 
much  the  worse !  They  might  say  what  they  liked ;  she 
would  lick  their  feet  if  need  were,  but  she  would  go  and  ask 
the  Lorilleux  to  lend  her  ten  sous. 

At  winter  time,  up  those  stairs  of  the  house,  the  paupers* 
stairs,  there  was  a  constant  borrowing  of  ten  sous  and  twenty 
sous,  petty  services  which  these  hungry  beggars  rendered  one 
another.  Only  they  would  rather  have  died  than  have  applied 
to  the  Lorilleux,  for  they  knew  that  they  were  too  hard-fisted. 
Thus  Gervaise  displayed  remarkable  courage  in  going  to  knock 
at  their  door.  She  had  felt  so  frightened  in  the  passage,  that 
as  she  knocked  she  experienced  the  sudden  relief  of  people 
who  ring  a  dentist's  bell. 

'  Come  in  !  '  cried  the  chain-maker  in  a  sour  voice. 

How  warm  and  nice  it  was  inside  I  The  forge  was  blazing, 
its  white  flame  lighting  up  the  narrow  workroom,  whilst 
Madame  Lorilleux  set  a  coil  of  gold  wire  to  heat.  Lorilleux, 
in  front  of  his  work-table,  was  perspiring  with  the  warmth  as 
he  soldered  the  links  of  a  chain.  And  the  place  smelt  nice ; 
some  cabbage  soup  was  simmering  on  the  stove,  exhaling  a 
steam  which  turned  Gervaise's  heart  topsy-turvy,  and  almost 
made  her  faint. 

'  Ah  !  it's  you,  growled  Madame  Lorilleux,  without  even 
asking  her  to  sit  down.     *  What  do  you  want  ?  ' 

Gervaise  did  not  answer.  She  was  not  on  such  very  bad 
terms  with  the  Lorilleux  that  week.  But  the  request  of  the  ten 
sous  stuck  in  her  throat  at  sight  of  Boche  seated  at  his  ease 
near  the  stove  and  talking  scandal.  He  looked  as  if  he  didn't 
care  a  curse  for  anyone,  the  animal !  He  laughed  like  a  fool, 
with  his  mouth  curved  and  his  cheeks  so  puffed  out  that  they 
almost  hid  his  nose. 

*  What  do  you  want  ?  '  repeated  Lorilleux. 

*  You  haven't  seen  Coupeau  ? '  Gervaise  stammered  at  last. 
*  I  thought  he  might  be  here.* 

The  chain-makers  and  the  doorkeeper  sneered.    No,  for 


HUNGER  369 

certain,  they  hadn't  seen  Coupeau.  They  didn't  stand  treat 
often  enough  to  see  Coupeau  like  that.  Then  Gervaise  made 
an  effort  and  resumed,  stuttering  :  *  It's  because  he  promised 
to  come  home.  Yes,  he's  to  bring  me  some  money.  And  as 
I  have  absohite  need  of  something ' 

Silence  followed.  Madame  Lorilleux  was  roughly  fanning 
the  fire  of  the  stove  ;  Lorilleux  had  lowered  his  nose  over  the 
bit  of  chain  between  his  fingers,  while  Boche  continued  laugh- 
ing, puffing  out  his  face  till  it  looked  like  a  full  moon. 

*If  I  only  had  ten  sous,'  muttered  Gervaise  in  a  low 
voice  ? 

The  silence  continued. 

*  Couldn't  you  lend  me  ten  sous  ?  Oh  !  I  would  return 
them  to  you  this  evening  ! ' 

Madame  Lorilleux  turned  round  and  stared  at  her.  There 
was  a  wheedler  for  you  trying  to  get  round  them  !  That  day 
she  asked  them  for  ten  sous,  on  the  morrow  it  would  be  for 
tw^enty,  and  then  there  would  be  no  reason  to  stop.  No, 
indeed  ;  they  didn't  mean  to  lend  her  anything. 

*  But,  my  dear,'  exclaimed  Madame  Lorilleux.  *  You  know 
very  well  that  we  haven't  any  money !  Look  I  there's  the 
lining  of  my  pocket.  You  can  search  us.  If  we  could,  it 
would  be  with  a  willing  heart,  of  course.' 

'  The  heart's  always  there,*  growled  Lorilleux.  *■  Only 
when  one  can't,  one  can't.' 

Gervaise  looked  very  humble,  and  nodded  her  head 
approvingly.  However,  she  did  not  take  herself  off.  She 
squinted  at  the  gold,  at  the  coils  of  gold  hanging  on  the 
walls,  at  the  gold  wire  which  the  wife  was  drawing  with  all 
the  strength  of  her  little  arms,  at  the  gold  links  lying  in  a 
heap  under  the  husband's  knotty  fingers.  And  she  thought 
that  a  tiny  bit  of  that  ugly  black  metal  would  have  sufficed 
to  buy  her  a  good  dinner.  The  workroom  was  as  dirty  as 
ever,  full  of  old  iron,  coal  dust,  and  sticky  oil  stains  half- wiped 
away ;  but  now,  as  Gervaise  saw  it,  it  seemed  resplendent 
with  treasure,  like  a  money-changer's  shop.  And  so  she 
ventured  to  repeat  very  gently :  *  I  wOuld  return  them  to  you, 
return  them  without  fail.  Ten  sous  wouldn't  inconvenience 
you.' 

Her  heart  was  swelling  with  the  effort  she  made  not  to 
own  that  she  had  eaten  nothing  since  the  day  before.  Then 
she  felt  her  legs  give  way  ;  she  was  much  afraid  that  she 
might  burst  into  tears,  and  she  stammered  yet  again :  *  It 

B  B 


370  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

would  be  so  kind  of  you !  You  don't  know.  Yes,  Tm 
reduced  to  that,  good  Lord— reduced  to  that !  ' 

Thereupon  the  Lorilleux  pursed  then*  lips,  and  exchanged 
covert  glances.  So  the  Hobbler  was  begging  now  !  Well, 
the  fall  was  complete.  But  they  did  not  care  for  that  kind 
of  thing  by  any  means  I  If  they  had  known,  they  would 
have  barricaded  the  door,  for  people  should  always  be  on 
their  guard  against  beggars,  folks  who  make  their  way  into 
apartments  under  any  pretext,  and  carry  precious  objects 
away  with  them ;  and  especially  so  in  this  place,  as  there  was 
something  well  worth  stealing.  One  might  lay  one's  fingers 
no  matter  where,  and  carry  off  thirty  or  forty  francs  by 
merely  closing  the  hand.  They  had  felt  suspicious  several 
times  already  on  noticing  how  strange  Gervaise  looked 
whenever  she  stationed  herself  in  front  of  the  gold.  This 
time,  however,  they  meant  to  watch  her.  And  as  she  ap- 
proached nearer,  with  her  feet  on  the  floor  screen,  the  chain- 
maker,  without  giving  any  further  answer  to  her  question, 
roughly  exclaimed :  *  Look  out — take  care  ;  you'll  be  carry- 
ing some  scraps  of  gold  away  on  the  soles  of  your  shoes. 
One  would  think  you  had  greased  them  on  purpose  to  make 
the  gold  stick  to  them.* 

Gervaise  slowly  drew  back.  For  a  moment  she  leant 
against  a  rack,  and  seeing  that  Madame  Lorilleux  was  looking 
at  her  hands,  she  opened  them  and  showed  them,  saying 
softly,  without  the  least  anger,  like  a  fallen  woman  who  puts 
up  with  every  humiliation  :  *  I  have  taken  nothing,  you  can 
look.'  And  then  she  went  off,  because  the  strong  smell  of 
cabbage  soup  and  the  warmth  of  the  workroom  made  her 
feel  so  ill. 

Ah !  the  Lorilleux  did  not  detain  her.  Good  riddance 
to  her,  the  deuce  if  they  opened  the  door  to  her  again. 
They  had  seen  enough  of  her  face.  They  didn't  want 
other  people's  misery  in  their  rooms,  especially  when 
that  misery  was  so  well  deserved.  They  revelled  in  their 
selfish  delight  at  being  seated  so  cosily  in  a  warm  room, 
with  a  fine  soup  preparing  for  them.  Boche  also  stretched 
himself,  puffing  out  his  cheeks  still  more  and  more.  They 
were  all  nicely  revenged  on  the  Hobbler  for  her  former 
manners,  her  blue  shop,  her  spreads,  and  all  the  rest.  The 
result  was  complete  ;  it  showed  whither  the  love  of  riotous 
living  led  one.  That  was  what  became  of  women  who 
were  gluttonous  and  idle  and  immoral  I 


HUNGER  371 

*  So  that  is  the  style  now  ?  Begging  for  ten  sous  ! '  cried 
Madame  Lorilleux  behind  Gervaise's  back.  *  Wait  a  bit ;  I'll 
lend  her  ten  sous,  and  no  mistake,  to  go  and  get  drunk 
with !  ' 

Gervaise  meantime  was  shuffling  along  the  passage  in  her 
slippers,  bending  her  back  and  feeling  heavy.  On  reaching 
her  door  she  did  not  open  it — her  room  frightened  her.  It 
would  be  better  to  walk  about — she  would  learn  patience. 
As  she  passed  she  craned  her  neck  and  peered  into  father 
Bru's  kennel  under  the  stairs.  There,  for  instance,  wag 
another  one  who  must  have  a  fine  appetite,  for  he  had  break- 
fasted and  dined  by  heart  during  the  last  three  days.  However, 
he  wasn't  at  home,  there  was  only  his  hole,  and  Gervaise  felt 
somewhat  jealous,  thinking  that  perhaps  he  had  been  invited 
somewhere.  Then,  on  reaching  the  Bijards',  she  heard  some 
one  complaining,  and,  as  the  key  was  in  the  lock  as  usual, 
she  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

*  What  is  the  matter  ?  *  she  asked. 

The  room  was  very  clean.  One  could  see  that  Lalie 
had  carefully  swept  it,  and  arranged  everything  during  the 
morning.  Misery  might  blow  into  the  room  as  much  as  it 
liked,  carry  off  the  chattels  and  spread  all  its  dirt  and  refuse 
about ;  Lalie,  however,  came  along  in  the  rear  and  tidied 
everything,  imparting,  at  least,  some  appearance  of  comfort 
within.  The  place  might  not  suggest  wealth,  but  you 
reahsed  that  there  was  a  housewife  in  it.  That  afternoon 
the  two  little  ones,  Henriette  and  Jules,  had  found  some  old 
pictures  which  they  were  cutting  out  in  a  corner.  But 
Gervaise  was  greatly  surprised  to  see  Lalie  herself  in  bed, 
looking  very  pale,  with  the  sheet  drawn  up  to  her  chin.  In 
bed,  indeed,  then  she  must  be  seriously  ill  1 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? '  repeated  Gervaise 
feeling  anxious. 

Lalie  no  longer  complained.  She  slowly  raised  her  white 
eyelids,  and  tried  to  compel  her  Hps  to  smile,  although  they 
were  twisted  by  a  shudder.  'There's  nothing  the  matter 
with  me,'  she  whispered  very  softly.  '  Keally  nothing  at  alL* 
Then,  closing  her  eyes  again,  she  added  with  an  effort,  *  I 
tired  myself  too  much  during  the  last  few  days,  and  so  I'm 
doing  the  idle  ;  I'm  nursing  myself,  as  you  see.* 

But  her  childish  face,  flecked  with  livid  splotches, 
assumed  such  an  expression  of  mortal  pain  that  Gervaise, 
forgetting  her  own  a^ony,  joined  her  hands  and  fell  on  her 

B  B  2 


372  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

knees  near  the  bed.  For  the  last  month  she  had  seen  the 
girl  clinging  to  the  walls  for  support  when  she  went  about, 
bent  double,  indeed,  by  a  cough  which  seemed  to  presage  a 
coffin.  And  now  the  poor  child  could  not  even  cough.  She 
retched,  and  drops  of  blood  oozed  from  the  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

'  It  isn't  my  fault  if  I  hardly  feel  strong,'  she  murmured, 
as  if  relieved.  '  I've  tired  myself  to-day  in  trying  to  put 
things  to  rights.  It's  pretty  tidy,  isn't  it  ?  And  I  wa,nted  to 
clean  the  windows  as  well,  but  my  legs  failed  me.  How 
stupid  I  However,  when  one  has  finished  one  can  go  to 
bed.' 

Then  she  paused  to  say,  *  Pray  see  if  my  little  ones  are 
not  cutting  themselves  with  their  scissors.'  And  afterwards 
she  relapsed  into  silence,  trembling  and  listening  to  a  heavy 
footfall  which  was  approaching  up  the  stairs. 

Suddenly  father  Bijard  flung  the  door  open.  As  usual  he 
was  far  gone,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  the  furious  madness 
imparted  by  the  '  vitriol '  he  had  swallowed.  When  he 
perceived  Lalie  in  bed,  he  tapped  his  thighs  with  a  sneer, 
and  took  the  whip  from  where  it  hung.  *  Ah  !  blazes,  that's 
too  strong,'  he  growled,  '  we'll  just  have  a  laugh.  So  the 
cows  lie  down  on  their  straw  at  noon,  now !  Are  you  poking 
fun  at  me,  you  lazy  beggar  ?  Come,  quick  now,  up  you  get.' 
And  he  already  cracked  the  whip  over  the  bed. 

But  the  child  beggingly  replied :  *  Pray,  papa,  don't,  don't 
strike  me.  I  swear  to  you  that  you  would  regret  it.  Don't 
strike  !  ' 

'  Will  you  jump  up  ? '  he  roared  still  louder,  *  or  else  I'll 
tickle  your  ribs  !     Jump  up,  you  little  hound  !  ' 

Then  she  softly  said,  *  I  can't— do  you  understand  ?  I'm 
going  to  die.' 

Gervaise  had  sprung  upon  Bijard  and  torn  the  whip  away 
from  him.  He  stood  bewildered  in  front  of  the  bed.  What 
was  the  dirty  nose  talking  about  ?  Do  girls  die  when  they 
are  so  young  as  that,  without  even  having  been  ill  ?  It  was 
some  excuse  to  get  sugar  out  of  him  no  doubt.  Ah !  he'd 
make  inquiries,  and  if  she  lied  she'd  catch  it ! 

*  You'll  see  it's  the  truth,'  she  continued.  *  As  long  as  I 
could  I  avoided  worrying  you ;  but  be  kind  now,  and  bid  me 
good-bye,  papa.' 

Bijard  wriggled  his  nose  as  if  he  fancied  she  was  deceiving 
him.    And  yet  it  was  true  that  she  had  a  singular  look,  the 


HUNGER  373 

serious  mien  of  a  grown-up  person.  The  breath  of  death 
which  passed  through  the  room  in  some  measure  sobered 
him.  He  gazed  around  Uke  a  man  awakened  from  a  long 
sleep,  saw  the  place  so  tidy,  the  two  children  clean,  playing 
and  laughing.  And  then  he  sank  upon  a  chair  stammering, 
'  Our  little  mother,  our  little  mother.' 

These  were  the  only  words  he  could  find  to  say,  and  yet 
they  were  very  tender  ones  for  Lalie,  who  had  never  been  so 
much  spoiled.  She  consoled  her  father.  What  particularly 
worried  her  was  that  she  should  have  to  go  off  like  that 
without  having  finished  the  rearing  of  her  little  ones.  He 
would  take  care  of  them,  would  he  not  ?  With  her  dying 
breath  she  told  him  how  they  ought  to  be  cared  for  and  kept 
clean.  But  he,  brutified,  with  the  fumes  of  drink  seizing 
hold  of  him  again,  wagged  his  head,  and  watched  her  pass 
away  with  an  uncertain  stare.  All  kinds  of  things  were 
touched  in  him,  but  he  could  find  no  more  to  say,  and  he 
was  too  burnt  by  liquor  to  shed  a  tear. 

*  Listen,'  resumed  Lalie,  after  a  pause.  *We  owe  four 
francs  and  seven  sous  to  the  baker ;  you  must  pay  that. 
Madame  Gaudron  has  an  iron  of  ours,  which  you  must  get 
from  her.  I  wasn't  able  to  make  any  soup  this  evening  ;  but 
there's  some  bread  left,  and  you  can  put  some  potatoes  to 
warm.' 

Till  her  last  rattle  the  poor  kitten  still  remained  *the 
little  mother.'  Surely  enough  it  would  be  impossible  to 
replace  her !  She  was  dying  because,  younsf  as  she  was,  she 
had  possessed  a  true  mother's  reason,  because  her  breast  was 
too  small  and  weak  for  such  breadth  of  maternity.  And  if 
her  ferocious  beast  of  a  father  lost  this  treasure,  it  was  his 
own  fault.  After  kicking  the  mother  to  death,  hadn't  he 
murdered  the  daughter  as  well  ?  The  two  good  angels  would 
lie  in  the  grave,  and  all  that  could  be  in  store  for  him  was  to 
croak  like  a  dog  in  the  gutter. 

However,  Gervaise  restrained  herself  so  that  she  might 
not  burst  out  sobbing.  She  extended  her  hands,  desirous  of 
easing  the  child  ;  and  as  the  shred  of  a  sheet  was  falling,  she 
wished  to  tuck  it  in,  and  arrange  the  bed.  Then  the  dying 
girl's  poor  little  body  was  seen.  Ah !  Lord  God,  what  misery ! 
what  woe  I  Stones  might  have  wept  at  such  a  sight.  Lalie 
had  no  flesh  left ;  her  bones  seemed  to  protrude  through  her 
skin.  From  her  ribs  to  her  thighs  there  extended  a  number 
of  violet  stripes — the  marks  of  the  whip  forcibly  imprinted  on 


374  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

her.  A  livid  mark,  moreover,  encircled  her  left  arm,  as  if 
the  tender  limb,  scarcely  larger  than  a  Incifer,  had  been 
crushed  in  a  vice.  There  was  also  an  imperfectly  closed 
wound  on  her  right  leg,  which  had  been  left  there  by  some 
ugly  blow,  and  which  opened  again  and  again  of  a  morning 
when  she  went  about  doing  her  errands.  From  head  to  foot, 
indeed,  she  was  but  one  bruise !  Oh  !  that  murdering  of 
childhood ;  those  heavy  hands  crushing  that  dear  girl !  How 
abominable  that  such  weakness  should  have  such  a  weighty 
cross  to  bear !  Again  did  Gervaise  crouch  down,  no  longer 
thinking  of  tucking  in  the  sheet,  but  overwhelmed  by  the 
pitiful  sight  of  that  martyrdom ;  and  her  trembling  lips 
seemed  to  be  seeking  for  words  of  prayer. 

*  Madame  Coupeau,*  murmured  the  child,  *  I  beg  you ' 

With  her  little  arms  she  tried  to  draw  up  the  sheet  again, 
ashamed  as  it  were  for  her  father.  Bijard,  in  a  state  of 
brutish  stupor,  with  his  eyes  on  the  corpse  which  was  his 
own  work,  still  wagged  his  head,  but  more  slowly,  like  a 
worried  animal  might  do. 

When  she  had  covered  Lalie  up  again,  Gervaise  felt  that 
she  could  not  remain  there.  The  dying  girl  was  growing 
weaker,  and  no  longer  spoke  ;  all  that  was  left  to  her  was  her 
gaze — the  dark  look  which  she  had  shown  as  a  resigned  and 
thoughtful  child,  and  which  she  now  fixed  on  her  two  little 
ones,  who  were  still  cutting  out  their  pictures.  The  room 
was  growing  gloomy,  and  Bijard  sat  working  off  his  liquor 
amidst  the  stupor  of  that  agony.  Ah  I  life  was  too  abomin- 
able !  _  How  full  of  filth  it  was  !  how  full  of  filth !  Then 
Gervaise  took  herself  off,  and  went  down  the  stairs  unwittingly, 
her  head  wandering,  so  full  of  disgust  that  she  would  willingly 
have  thrown  herself  under  the  wheels  of  a  passing  omnibus 
to  have  finished  with  her  own  existence. 

As  she  hastened  on,  growling  against  bard  fate,  she  sud 
denly  found  herself  in  front  of  the  place  where  Coupeau  pre- 
tended that  he  worked.  Her  legs  had  brought  her  thither, 
and  now  her  stomach  resumed  its  song,  the  complaint  of 
hunger  in  ninety  verses— a  complaint  she  knew  by  heart. 
However,  if  she  could  catch  Coupeau  as  he  left,  she  would 
pounce  upon  the  cash  at  once,  and  buy  some  food.  There 
would  be  a  short  hour's  waiting  at  the  utmost;  she  could 
surely  stay  that  out,  she  who  had  sucked  her  thumbs  since 
the  day  before. 

The  place  was  in  the  Bue  de  la  Charbonnike,  at  the 


HUNGER  375 

corner  of  the  Rue  de  Chartres,  an  open  space  where  the  wind 
played  at  hide-and-seek.  Stalking  the  pavement  there  didn't 
warm  one,  particularly  when  one  had  no  furs.  The  sky  re- 
tained its  ugly  leaden  hue,  and  the  snow,  collected  up  above, 
covered  the  neighbourhood  as  with  an  icy  cap.  Nothing  fell, 
but  the  air  was  profoundly  still,  indicating  that  there  would 
be  a  complete  disguise  for  Paris  by-and-by — a  pretty  ball- 
dress,  quite  white  and  new.  Gervaise  raised  her  head, 
begging  Providence  not  to  let  the  muslin  fall  yet  awhile. 
Then  she  stamped  her  feet,  looked  at  a  grocer's  shop  over  the 
way,  and  turned  on  her  heels,  since  it  was  not  worth  while  for 
her  to  sharpen  her  appetite  by  contemplating  dainty  things. 
There  was  nothing  amusing  roundabout.  The  few  passers-by, 
with  comforters  wrapped  round  their  necks,  strode  swiftly  on ; 
for,  naturally  enough,  one  does  not  care  to  tarry  in  such 
bitter  cold.  However,  Gervaise  perceived  four  or  five  women 
who,  hke  herself,  were  mounting  guard  outside  the  zinc- 
works— other  unhappy  creatures,  no  doubt — wives  watching 
for  their  husbands'  pay,  so  as  to  prevent  it  from  going  to  the 
dram-shop.  Close  to  the  wall  stood  a  tall  creature  with  a 
gendarme's  face,  who  was  ready  to  spring  on  her  husband  as 
soon  as  he  should  show  himself.  A  dark  httle  woman  with 
a  delicate,  humble  air  was  walking  about  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road.  Another  one — a  fat  creature — had  brought  two 
urchins  with  her,  and  was  dragging  them  along,  one  by  eithei 
hand,  and  both  of  them  shivering  and  sobbing.  And  one  and 
all  of  these  women — Gervaise  like  the  others — passed  and  re- 
passed, exchanging  glances,  but  never  speaking  to  one  another. 
It  was  a  pleasant  meeting  and  no  mistake.  They  didn't  need 
to  form  acquaintance  to  know  each  other's  address.  They 
all  lodged  on  the  premises  of  *  Misery  &  Co.'  It  seemed  to 
make  one  feel  even  colder  to  see  them  ever  stamping  about 
and  passing  each  other  in  silence  in  that  terrible  January 
weather. 

For  a  time  nobody  left  the  zinc-works.  But  presently 
one  workman  appeared,  then  two,  and  then  three ;  however, 
these  were,  no  doubt,  decent  fellows  who  took  their  pay  home 
regularly,  for  they  jerked  their  heads  significantly  as  they  saw 
the  shadows  prowling  up  and  down.  The  tall  creature  stuck 
closer  than  ever  to  the  side  of  the  door,  and  suddenly  fell 
upon  a  pale  little  man  who  was  prudently  poking  his  head 
out.  Oh  1  it  was  soon  settled  1  She  searched  him,  and 
collared  his  coin.    He  was  fairly  caught;  he'd  no  more 


376  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

money  left,  not  even  enough  to  pay  for  a  dram  I  Then,  look- 
ing very  vexed  and  downcast,  the  little  man  followed  his 
gendarme,  weeping  like  a  child.  The  workmen  were  still 
coming  out  ;  and  as  the  fat  mother  with  the  two  boys 
approached  the  door,  a  tall  fellow,  with  a  cunning  look, 
who  noticed  her,  hastily  went  inside  again  to  warn  her 
husband,  and  when  the  latter  arrived  he  had  stuffed  a  couple 
of  cart-wheels  away — two  beautiful  new  five-franc  pieces — one 
in  each  of  his  shoes.  He  took  one  of  the  kids  on  his  arm, 
and  went  off  telling  crams  to  his  old  woman,  who  was  com 
plaining.  There  were  other  workmen  also — gloomy,  wretched 
looking  fellows  who  carried  in  their  clenched  fists  the  pay 
for  the  three  or  five  days'  work  that  they  had  done  during  a 
fortnight,  and  who  reproached  themselves  with  their  own 
laziness,  and  took  drunkards'  oaths  of  reformation.  But  the 
saddest  thing  of  all  was  the  grief  of  the  dark  little  woman 
with  the  humble,  delicate  look.  Her  husband,  a  handsome 
fellow,  bolted  under  her  very  nose,  and  so  brutally  indeed 
that  he  almost  knocked  her  down,  and  she  went  home  alone, 
stumbUng  past  the  shops  and  weeping  all  the  tears  in  her 
body. 

At  last  the  procession  finished.  Gervaise,  who  stood 
erect  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  was  still  watching  the  door. 
The  look-out  seemed  a  bad  one.  A  couple  more  workmen 
who  were  late  appeared  on  the  threshold,  but  there  were  still 
no  signs  of  Coupeau.  And  when  she  asked  the  workmen  if 
Coupeau  wasn't  coming,  they,  being  up  to  snuff,  answered, 
banteringly,  that  he  had  just  gone  off  by  the  back-door  with 
Lantimeche.  Gervaise  understood  what  that  meant.  So 
that  pretence  at  work  was  another  of  Coupeau's  lies  ;  she 
might  whistle  for  him  if  she  liked.  Then,  shuffling  along  in 
her  worn-out  shoes,  she  went  slowly  down  the  Kue  de  la 
Charbonniere.  Her  dinner  was  going  off  fast  in  front  of  her, 
and  she  shuddered  as  she  saw  it  running  away  in  the  yellow 
twilight.  This  time  it  was  all  over.  Not  a  copper,  not  a 
hope,  nothing  but  night  and  hunger.  Ah !  'twas  a  fine 
night  to  kick  the  bucket,  that  murky  night  which  was  now 
falling  over  her  shoulders  ! 

However,  while  she  was  walking  heavily  up  the  Eue  des 
Poissonniers  she  suddenly  heard  Coupeau's  voice.  Yes,  he 
was  there,  in  the  *  Little  Civet,'  with  My-Boots,  who  was 
treating  him.  That  jester,  My-Boots,  had  been  cunning 
enough  at  the  end  of  the  previous  summer  to  espouse  in 


HUNGER  377 

authentic  fashion  a  person  who,  although  advanced  in  years 
and  no  longer  fresh,  had  preserved  some  traces  of  beauty. 
She  was  one  of  the  Hue  des  Martyrs  set,  and  My-Boots  now 
lived  like  a  man  of  means,  well  clad  and  well  fed.  He  could 
hardly  be  recognised,  so  fat  had  he  grown.  And  so  Coupeau 
squinted  admiringly  at  him.  "Why,  the  lucky  dog  even  had 
a  gold  ring  on  his  little  finger  I 

However,  Gervaise  touched  Coupeau  on  the  shoulder  just 
as  he  was  coming  out  of  the  *  Little  Civet.'  *  I  say,'  she 
exclaimed,  *  I'm  waiting.  I'm  hungry.  Is  that  all  you 
stand  ? ' 

But  he  silenced  her  in  first-rate  style.  *  You're  hungry, 
eh  ?  Well,  then  eat  your  hand,  and  keep  t'other  for  to-mor- 
row.' 

He  considered  it  highly  improper  for  her  to  do  the  dramatic 
in  other  people's  presence.  What,  he  hadn't  worked,  and 
yet  the  bakers  kneaded  bread  all  the  same.  Did  she  take 
him  for  a  Juggins  that  she  came  and  tried  to  frighten  him 
with  her  stories  ? 

*  Do  you  want  me  to  turn  thief  ? '  she  muttered,  in  a 
husky  voice. 

My-Boots  stroked  his  chin  in  conciliatory  fashion.  *  No, 
that's  forbidden,'  said  he.  *  But  when  a  woman  knows  how 
to  manage ' 

And  Coupeau  interrupted  him  to  call  out  *  Bravo ! '  Yes, 
a  woman  ought  to  know  how  to  manage.  But  his  wife  had 
always  been  a  helpless  thing.  It  would  be  her  fault  if  they 
should  die  in  the  straw.  And  then  he  again  vented  his 
admiration  for  My-Boots.  How  awfully  fine  he  looked  I  A 
regular  landlord,  with  clean  linen  and  swell  shoes !  They 
were  no  common  stuff  I  His  wife,  at  all  events,  knew  how 
to  row  the  boat ! 

The  two  men  walked  towards  the  outer  Boulevard,  and  Ger- 
vaise followed  them.  After  a  pause,  she  resumed,  addressing 
Coupeau:  'I'm  hungry;  you  know,  I  relied  on  you.  You  must 
find  me  something  to  nibble.' 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  despair- 
ing agony  :  *  Is  that  all  you  stand  then  ? ' 

'But,  dash  it  all,  I've  got  no  coin,'  he  roared,  turning 
round  in  a  fury.  *  Just  leave  me  alone,  eh  ?  or  else  I'll  hit 
you.' 

He  was  already  raising  his  fist  when  she  drew  back,  and 
seemed  to  make  up  her  mind.    *  ALL  right,  I'U  leave  you.    I 


378  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

shall  always  be  able  to  find  some  one  who'll  treat  me  better 
than  you.' 

The  zinc-worker  laughed  and  pretended  to  make  a  joke  of 
the  matter,  but  the  result  was  to  strengthen  her  in  her  pur- 
pose. That  was  a  fine  idea  of  hers,  and  no  mistake  1  said  he. 
In  the  evening,  by  gaslight,  she  might  still  make  a  conquest. 
And  as  she  went  off  along  the  Boulevard,  looking  pale  and 
furious,  he  added  some  abominable  suggestions,  couched 
however  in  such  language  that  one  could  not  tell  whether  he 
was  still  jesting  or  speaking  seriously. 

With  his  words  ringing  in  her  ears,  Gervaise  walked 
quickly  away.  But  when  she  found  herself  alone  amidst  the 
crowd,  she  slackened  her  pace.  She  was  quite  resolute. 
Between  thieving  and  the  other  alternative,  she  preferred 
the  latter.  To  steal  would  be  to  do  an  injury  to  others, 
whereas  her  shame  could  only  recoil  upon  herself.  It  might 
be  wrong,  but  when  one  is  dying  of  hunger,  one  doesn't 
philosophise,  one  eats  whatever  bread  may  turn  up.  She  had 
gone  as  far  as  the  Chaussee-Clignancourt.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  night  would  never  come.  Still,  she  followed  the  Boule- 
vards like  a  lady  who  is  taking  a  stroll  before  dinner.  The 
district  in  which  she  nowadays  felt  so  ashamed  of  herself,  so 
greatly  was  it  being  embellished,  lay  open  to  the  fresh  air. 
The  Boulevard  Magenta,  ascending  from  the  heart  of  Paris, 
and  the  Boulevard  Ornano  stretching  into  the  country,  had 
transpierced  the  neighbourhood  in  the  vicinity  of  the  old 
Barriere,  levelling  a  large  number  of  houses  ;  however,  beside 
the  two  long  avenues,  still  white  with  plaster,  one  could  see 
the  Faubourg-Poissonniere  and  the  Bue  des  Poissonniers, 
dark,  dingy,  and  crooked.  On  the  other  hand,  the  demolition 
of  the  octroi  wall  had  long  since  widened  the  outer  Boulevard, 
allowing  space  for  two  paved  roads,  with  a  central  foot-walk 
planted  with  four  rows  of  scrubby  plane  trees.  The  view 
extended  to  the  horizon,  along  far- stretching  highways 
swarming  with  people,  and  ending  in  a  chaos  of  half-built 
houses.  But  among  the  lofty  new  buildings  there  still  re- 
mained Diany  tottering  hovels.  Between  the  carved  frontages 
of  recent  erection  black  cavities  opened,  wretched  kennels 
yawned,  with  rags  hanging  from  their  windows.  The  misery 
of  the  Faubourg  burst  through  all  the  rising  luxury  of  Paris, 
smirching  the  new  city  which  was  being  built  so  hastily. 

And  lost  in  the  crowd  on  the  broad  footway,  walking  past 
the  httle  plane  trees,  Gervaise  felt  quite  alone,  forsaken.  The 


HUNGER  379 

far  vistas  of  avenues  seen  over  yonder  seemed  to  empty  her 
stomach  all  the  more ;  and  to  think  that  among  that  stream 
of  people  there  were  many  in  easy  circumstances,  and  yet  not 
a  Christian  soul  who  could  guess  her  position,  and  slip  a  ten- 
sous  piece  into  her  hand  1  Yes,  the  scene  was  too  great  and 
too  beautiful;  her  head  swam,  and  her  legs  tottered  under 
the  expanse  of  grey  sky  which  stretched  over  the  vast  open 
space.  The  twilight  had  the  dirty-yellowish  hue  of  Parisian 
twilights,  a  tint  that  gives  one  a  longing  to  die  at  once,  so 
ugly  does  street-hfe  become.  And  gradually  the  last  gleams 
departed,  it  was  a  murky  hour,  and  things  at  any  distance 
were  blurred  as  by  a  muddy  veil.  Gervaise,  who  was  already 
weary,  found  all  the  workpeople  returning  home.  The  ladies 
in  bonnets  and  the  well-dressed  gentlemen  who  lived  in  the 
new  houses  were  swamped  by  the  masses,  the  long  processions 
of  men  and  women  who  hurried  on  still  pale  from  inhaling 
the  tainted  atmosphere  of  their  workshops.  From  the  Boule- 
vard Magenta  and  the  Rue  du  Faubourg-Poissonni^re,  came 
bands  of  people,  breathless  from  their  uphill  walk.  Amidst 
the  rumbling  of  the  omnibuses  and  the  cabs,  among  the  vans 
and  drays  returning  home  empty  at  a  gallop,  an  ever  increasing 
sw^arm  of  blouses  and  blue  vests  covered  the  pavement.  Com- 
missionaires were  returning  with  their  crotchets  on  their  backs. 
Two  workmen,  stepping  out  and  taking  long  strides  side  by 
side,  talked  together  in  loud  voices,  with  any  amount  of 
gesticulation,  but  without  looking  at  one  another ;  others,  who 
were  alone,  in  overcoats  and  caps,  followed  the  curbstones 
with  lowered  heads ;  while  others,  again,  came  in  parties  of 
five  or  six,  following  each  other  in  silence,  their  eyes  dim, 
and  their  hands  in  their  pockets.  Some  still  had  their  pipes, 
which  had  gone  out,  between  their  teeth.  Four  masons  poked 
their  white  faces  out  of  the  windows  of  a  cab  which  they  had 
hired  between  them,  and  on  the  roof  of  which  their  mortar 
troughs  were  rocking  to  and  fro.  Then  house-painters  swung 
their  colour  pots ;  a  zinc-worker  came  by  laden  with  a  long 
ladder,  with  which  he  almost  poked  people's  eyes  out ;  whilst 
a  belated  dealer  in  filter-taps,  with  his  box  on  his  back,  played 
the  tune  of  '  The  Good  King  Dagobert '  on  his  little  trumpet. 
Ah !  the  mournful  music,  a  fitting  accompaniment  to  the 
flock-like  tramping,  the  dragging  tread  of  the  exhausted  beasts 
of  burden. 

So  another  day's  work  was  over !     Really  work  lasted  too 
long  and  came  too  often.     There  would  hardly  be  time  to  fill 


58o  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

one's  maw  and  digest  one's  food  before  daylight  would  come 
again,  and  the  collar  of  drudgery  must  be  resumed.  But, 
nevertheless,  the  plucky  ones  whistled  and  stamped  on  the 
pavement,  as  they  darted  along,  erect,  with  their  mouths 
turned  supperwards.  And  Gervaise  let  the  crowd  flow  past 
her,  careless  of  being  knocked  against,  elbowed  to  the  right, 
and  elbowed  to  the  left,  rolled  hither  and  thither  by  the  force 
of  the  tide.  For  men  have  no  time  to  indulge  in  gallantry  when 
they  are  bent  double  by  fatigue  and  pinched  by  hunger. 

Suddenly,  however,  on  raising  her  eyes  she  noticed  the 
old  Hotel  Boncoeur  in  front  of  her.  After  becoming  an_  ill- 
famed  cafe,  which  the  police  authorities  had  shut  up,  the  little 
house  was  now  abandoned;  its  shutters  were  covered  with 
posters,  its  lantern  was  broken,  it  was  rotting  and  crumbling 
away,  the  whole  of  it,  from  top  to  bottom,  with  its  claret 
coloured  paint  turning  quite  mouldy.  However,  a  stationer's 
and  a  tobacconist's  which  she  recollected  were  still  there.  In 
the  rear,  over  some  low  buildings,  she  could  also  see  the 
leprous  fa9ades  of  several  five-storeyed  houses  rearing  battered 
silhouettes  against  the  sky.  The  *  Grand  Balcony '  dancing 
hall,  alone,  no  longer  existed;  some  sugar-cutting  works, 
which  hissed  continually,  had  been  installed  in  the  hall 
whose  ten  windows  had  once  flamed  forth  so  brightly.  And 
yet  it  was  there,  in  that  den — the  Hotel  Boncoeur — that  the 
whole  cursed  life  had  begun.  Gervaise  remained  looking 
at  the  first  floor  window,  from  which  hung  a  broken  shutter, 
and  recalled  to  mind  her  youth  with  Lantier,  their  first  rows 
and  the  ignoble  way  in  which  he  had  abandoned  her.  But 
no  matter,  she  had  been  young  then,  and  it  all  seemed  gay  to 
her,  seen  from  a  distance.  Only  twenty  years,  0  God  of 
heaven  !  and  yet  she  had  fallen  to  the  pavement.  Then  the 
sight  of  the  lodging-house  oppressed  her,  and  she  walked  up 
the  Boulevard  in  the  direction  of  Montmartre. 

The  night  was  gathering,  but  children  were  still  playing 
on  the  heaps  of  sand  between  the  benches.  The  march  past 
continued  ;  work-girls  now  went  by,  trotting  along,  hurrying 
to  make  up  for  the  time  which  they  had  lost  in  looking  at 
the  shop  windows.  One  tall  girl  stopped,  and  let  her  hand 
linger  in  that  of  a  big  fellow,  who  had  accompanied  her,  three 
doors  off  from  her  home ;  others,  as  they  parted  from  one 
another, made  appointments  for  the  night  at  the  'Grand  Hall 
of  Folly '  or  the  '  Black  Ball.'  In  the  midst  of  the  groups, 
piece-workers  went  by,  carrying  the  gowns  or  mantles  which 


HUNGER  381 

they  had  to  make  up,  under  their  arms.  Then  a  chimney- 
doctor,  harnessed  with  leather  braces,  and  drawing  a  plaster- 
laden  truck,  was  nearly  crushed  by  an  omnibus,  owing  to  hia 
carelessness.  And  meantime  among  the  crowd,  which  was 
now  dwindling,  there  ran  various  bareheaded  housewives 
who,  after  lighting  the  fire,  had  come  downstairs  again,  and 
were  hastily  making  their  purchases  for  dinner.  They  jostled 
the  people  they  met,  darted  into  the  bakers'  and  the  pork 
butchers',  and  went  off  again  with  all  despatch,  their  pro- 
visions in  their  hands.  There  were  also  little  girls,  eight 
years  old  or  so,  who  had  been  sent  out  on  errands,  and  who 
walked  past  the  shops,  with  long  loaves  of  four  pounds' 
weight,  as  tall  as  they  were  themselves,  pressed  like  beautiful 
yellow  dolls  against  their  breasts ;  and  at  times  these  little 
ones  forgot  themselves  for  five  minutes  or  so,  in  front  of  some 
pictures  in  a  shop  window,  and  rested  their  cheeks  against 
the  bread.  Then  the  flow  began  to  subside,  the  groups 
became  more  scattered,  toil  had  gone  home ;  and  amidst  the 
flare  of  the  gas,  now  thac  the  day's  labour  was  over,  there 
came  the  revenge  of  awakening  idleness  and  jollity. 

Ah  !  yes,  Gervaise's  day  also  was  over  I  She  felt  more 
exhausted  than  even  all  that  mob  of  toilers  which  had  shook 
her  as  it  passed.  She  might  lie  down  there  and  croak,  for 
work  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her,  and  she  had 
laboured  enough  in  her  time  to  say  :  *  Whose  turn  now  ?  I've 
had  enough.'  At  present  everybody  was  eating.  This  was 
really  the  end,  the  sun  had  blown  out  its  candle,  and  the 
night  would  be  a  long  one.  Ah  !  God !  To  stretch  oneself 
at  one's  ease  and  never  rise  again,  to  think  that  one  has  put 
one's  tools  by  for  good,  and  that  one  will  henceforth  lie  lazy 
for  ever !  That's  what  is  good,  after  one  has  tired  oneself 
out  during  twenty  years !  And  despite  herself  Gervaise,  as 
hunger  twisted  her  stomach,  thought  of  the  fete  days,  the 
spreads  and  the  revelry  of  her  life.  On  one  occasion  espe- 
cially, an  awfully  cold  day,  a  mid-Lent  Thursday,  she  had 
enjoyed  herself  wonderfully  well.  She  was  very  pretty,  fair- 
haired  and  fresh-looking  at  that  time.  Her  wash-house  in 
the  Eue  Neuve  had  chosen  her  as  Queen  in  spite  of  her 
lameness.  And  they  had  all  had  a  jaunt  along  the  Boule- 
vards in  vehicles  decked  with  green  stuff,  amidst  stylish 
people  who  had  never  ceased  to  ogle  her.  Real  gentlemen 
had  put  up  their  glasses  as  if  she  had  been  a  true  queen. 
And  in  the  evening  there  had  been  a  wonderful  spread,  and 


382  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

afterwards  dancing  until  daylight.  Queen !  yes,  she  had  been 
Queen  ;  with  a  crown  and  a  sash  for  twenty-four  hours — 
twice  round  the  clock  I  And  now,  heavy  and  tortured  by 
hunger,  she  looked  on  the  ground,  as  if  she  were  seeking  for 
the  gutter  in  which  she  had  let  her  fallen  majesty  tumble. 

She  raised  her  eyes  again.  She  was  now  in  front  of  the 
slaughterhouses  which  were  being  pulled  down.  Through 
the  gaps  in  the  frontage  one  could  see  the  dark,  stinking 
courtyards  still  damp  with  blood.  And  when  she  had  gone 
down  the  Boulevard  again,  she  also  saw  the  Lariboisiere 
Hospital,  with  its  long  grey  wall,  above  which  its  mournful 
wings,  pierced  with  windows  at  even  distances,  spread  out 
fanlike.  One  door  in  the  wall  terrified  the  neighbourhood  ;  it 
was  the  door  of  the  dead,  and  its  panel  of  massive  oak,  with- 
out a  single  chink,  remained  as  stern  and  as  silent  as  a  tomb- 
stone. Then  to  escape  her  thoughts,  she  hurried  yet  farther 
down  until  she  reached  the  railway  bridge.  High  parapets  of 
riveted  sheet-iron  hid  the  line  from  view  ;  she  could  only  dis- 
tinguish a  part  of  the  station,  a  vast  roof  black  with  coal  dust, 
showing  against  the  luminous  horizon  of  Paris.  And  in  this 
clear  spacious  spot  she  could  hear  engines  whistling,  turn- 
tables shaking  rhythmically,  and  other  sounds  betokening 
colossal,  hidden  activity.  Then  a  train  passed  by,  leaving 
Paris,  with  puffing  breath  and  growing  rumble.  And  all  that 
she  perceived  of  this  train  was  a  white  plume,  a  sudden  gust 
of  steam  which  rose  above  the  parapet  and  then  evaporated. 
But  the  bridge  had  shaken,  and  she  herself  was  stirred  by  this 
departure  at  full  speed.  She  turned  round  as  if  to  follow  the 
invisible  engine,  whose  uproar  was  dying  away.  In  that 
direction  she  divined  the  existence  of  the  country  and  fresh 
air,  far  away  beyond  a  cutting  where  to  right  and  left  were  tall 
isolated  houses  erected  without  order,  now  showing  frontages, 
and  now  side-walls,  some  unplastered,  others  painted  over 
with  giant  advertisements,  and  all  of  them  dirtied  in  like 
fashion  by  the  smoke  from  the  engines.  Oh  I  if  she  had  only 
been  able  to  go  off  like  that,  to  go  off  yonder  far  from  those 
abodes  of  misery  and  suffering.  Perhaps  she  might  then  have 
begun  her  life  afresh  !  Then  she  found  herself  stupidly 
reading  the  bills  posted  on  the  sheet- iron  parapet.  They 
were  of  every  tint.  One  of  them — a  little  one,  of  a  pretty 
shade  of  blue — promised  fifty  francs  reward  for  a  dog  which 
had  been  lost.     That  animal  had  been  loved,  plainly  enough. 

Gervaise  slowly  resumed  her  walk.     In  the  misty,  smoky 


HUNGER  383 

darkness  which  was  falling,  the  gas  lamps  were  being  lighted ; 
and  the  long  avenues,  which  had  gradually  grown  black  and 
indistinct,  again  showed  plainly,  sparkhng,  stretching  away, 
transpiercing  the  night,  even  to  the  vague  gloom  of  the 
horizon.  A  great  gust  swept  by ;  the  district  seemed  to 
expand,  throwing  out  girdle  after  girdle  of  httle  flames,  under 
the  far-spreading  moonless  sky.  It  was  the  hour  when  from 
one  to  the  other  end  of  the  Boulevards  the  dram-shops  and 
the  dancing  and  concert  halls  one  after  the  other  flamed 
gaily,  amidst  the  merriment  of  the  first  round  of  drinks  and 
the  first  dance.  And  as  this  was  the  great  fortnightly  pay- 
day, the  pavement  was  crowded  with  jostling  revellers. 
There  was  a  breath  of  revelry  in  the  air—downright  revelry, 
but  so  far  kept  within  limits.  Folks  were  filling  themselves 
in  the  eating-houses  ;  through  the  lighted  windows  you  could 
see  them  feeding,  with  their  mouths  full,  and  laughing  with- 
out taking  the  trouble  to  swallow.  Drunkards  were  already 
installed  in  the  wine-shops,  squabbling  and  gesticulating. 
And  there  was  a  hubbub  on  all  sides,  shrill  and  husky  voices 
alike  shouting  amid  the  constant  clatter  of  feet  on  the  pave- 
ment. 

*  I  say  1  are  you  coming  to  have  a  drop  ?  *  *  Make  haste, 
old  man ;  I'll  pay  for  a  glass  of  bottled  wine.*  *  Hallo  I 
here's  Pauline  !  Shan't  we  just  laugh  1  '  The  doors  swung 
to  and  fro,  letting  a  smell  of  wine  and  a  stream  of  cornet 
playing  escape  into  the  open  air.  There  was  a  gathering  in 
front  of  old  Colombe's  '  Assommoir,'  which  was  lighted  up 
like  a  cathedral  for  high  mass ;  and  indeed  one  might  have 
thought  that  a  real  ceremony  was  going  on,  for  several  hail- 
well-met  fellows  with  rounded  paunches  and  swollen  cheeks, 
looking  for  all  the  world  like  professional  choristers,  were 
singing  inside..  Of  course  they  were  celebrating  Saint-Pay — 
a  very  amiable  saint  who  no  doubt  keeps  the  cash-box  in 
Paradise.  Only,  on  seeing  how  gaily  the  evening  began,  the 
retired  tradesmen  who  had  taken  their  wives  out  for  a  stroll 
wagged  their  heads  and  repeated  that  there  would  be  any 
number  of  drunken  men  in  Paris  that  night.  And  the  night 
stretched  very  dark,  dead-like  and  icy  above  the  revelry, 
illumined  only  by  the  lines  of  gas-lamps  which  extended  to 
the  four  corners  of  heaven. 

Gervaise  stood  in  front  of  the  *  Assommoir,*  thinking  that 
if  she  had  only  possessed  a  couple  of  sous  she  could  have 
gone  inside  for  a  nip.     A  nip  no  doubt  would  have  quieted 


384  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

her  hunger.  Ah  !  what  a  number  of  nips  she  had  drunk  in 
her  time !  Liquor  seemed  good  stuff  to  her  after  all.  And 
from  outside  she  watched  the  fuddling  machine,  reahsing  that 
her  misfortunes  came  from  it,  and  yet  dreaming  of  finishing 
herself  off  with  brandy  whenever  she  should  have  some  cash. 
But  a  shudder  passed  through  her  hair,  as  she  saw  that  it 
was  now  quite  dark.  She  must  show  some  courage  if  she 
didn't  wish  to  croak  amidst  the  general  revelry.  The  sight  of 
other  people  gorging  didn't  precisely  fill  her  own  maw.  She 
slackened  her  pace  again,  and  looked  around  her.  There  was 
a  darker  shade  under  the  trees.  Only  few  people  passed, 
folks  in  a  hurry  who  swiftly  crossed  the  Boulevards.  But  on 
the  broad,  dark,  deserted,  central  foot  walk,  where  the  sound 
of  the  revelry  died  away,  women  stood  for  long  moments 
motionless,  as  stiff-looking  as  the  scrubby  little  plane  trees 
beside  them.  Then  they  slowly  began  to  move,  dragging  their 
slippers  over  the  frozen  soil,  taking  ten  steps  or  so  and  then 
halting  once  more.  There  was  one  with  a  huge  frame  and 
insect-hke  limbs  who  swayed  about  in  a  black  silk  rag,  with  a 
yellow  scarf  over  her  head ;  there  was  another  tall  and  bony, 
bareheaded  and  wearing  a  servant's  apron ;  and  others,  too — 
both  old  and  young.  And  Gervaise  tried  to  imitate  them, 
though  an  attack  of  girlish  emotion  contracted  her  throat. 
She  seemed  to  be  Hving  in  a  horrible  dream.  For  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  she  remained  standing  erect,  but  people  hurried 
by  without  even  turning  their  heads.  Then  she  in  her  turn 
moved  about,  and  as  a  man  passed  near  her  whistling,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  she  murmured  in  a  strangled  voice : 
'  Sir,  just  listen.' 

The  man  gave  her  a  side  glance  and  then  went  off, 
whistling  all  the  louder. 

Then  Gervaise  grew  bolder,  the  hunger  which  griped  and 
tortured  her,  urging  her  into  this  wild  chase  for  a  meal,  the 
chance  of  which  seemed  to  grow  fainter  and  fainter.  For  a 
long  while  she  walked  about,  without  thinking  of  the  flight  of 
time  or  of  the  direction  she  took.  Around  her  the  dark  mute 
women  went  to  and  fro  under  the  trees  like  wild  beasts  in  a 
cage.  Whenever  they  passed  a  gas-lamp  they  emerged  from 
the  shade  like  apparitions ;  then  as  they  went  off  into  the 
darkness  they  grew  vague  once  more.  Now  and  again  some 
individual  halted,  jested  with  them,  and  then  walked  away, 
laughing.  There  was  a  deal  of  murmuring,  of  quarrelling  in 
undertones,  which  suddenly  gave  nlace  to  silence.     And  aa 


1 


HUNGER  385 

far  as  Gervaise  went  she  saw  these  women  standing  at 
intervals  like  sentinels ;  they  seemed  to  be  posted  along  the 
whole  length  of  the  Boulevards.  All  Paris  was  encompassed 
by  them.  For  her  part,  in  her  sore  need  of  bread,  she  again 
and  again  ragefully  changed  her  place,  finally  walking  up 
and  down  between  the  Chaussee  Clignancourt  and  the  Grande 
Rue  of  La  Chapelle. 

*  Sir,  just  listen.' 

But  those  whom  she  addressed  passed  by.  She  started  from 
the  slaughterhouses,  which  reeked  of  blood;  she  glanced  on  her 
way  at  the  old  Hotel  Boncoeur,  now  closed  ;  she  passed  in 
front  of  the  Lariboisiere  Hospital,  and  mechanically  counted 
the  windows  which  were  illumined  by  a  pale  quiet  glimmer, 
like  that  of  night-lights  at  the  bedsides  of  agonising  sufferers. 
And  she  also  crossed  the  railway  bridge,  beneath  which  the 
trains  rushed  with  a  noisy  rumble,  rending  the  air  atwain 
with  their  shrill  whistling.  Ah  I  how  sad  did  everything 
seem  at  night-time  !  Then  she  turned  on  her  heels  again, 
and  filled  her  eyes  with  the  sight  of  the  same  houses,  doing 
this  ten  and  twenty  times  without  pausing,  without  resting 
for  a  minute  on  a  bench.  But  none  would  listen  to  her.  Her 
shame  seemed  to  be  increased  by  this  contempt.  Nevertheless, 
she  went  down  towards  the  hospital  again,  and  then  returned 
towards  the  slaughterhouses.  It  was  her  last  promenade — 
from  the  blood-stained  yards,  where  animals  were  stricken 
low,  to  the  pale  hospital  wards,  where  death  was  stiffening  the 
patients  stretched  between  the  sheets.  It  was  between  these 
limits  that  she  had  passed  her  life. 

*  Sir,  just  listen.' 

But  suddenly  she  perceived  her  shadow  on  the  ground. 
"Whenever  she  came  near  to  a  gas-lamp  it  gradually  drew 
itself  together,  became  less  vague,  more  clearly  defined,  and 
terribly  grotesque,  so  portly  had  she  nowadays  grown.  And 
such,  moreover,  was  her  lameness  that  the  shadow  seemed  to 
turn  a  somersault  at  every  step  she  took.  It  looked  like  a 
real  Punch  I  Then  as  she  left  the  lamp  behind  her,  the 
Punch  grew  taller,  becoming  in  fact  gigantic,  filling  the  whole 
Boulevard,  and  bobbing  to  and  fro  in  such  a  style  that  it 
seemed  likely  to  smash  its  nose  against  the  trees  or  the  houses. 
Good  heavens  I  how  frightful  she  was  1  Never  before  had 
she  realised  her  disfigurement  so  thoroughly.  And  from  that 
moment  she  could  not  refrain  from  looking  at  her  shadow  ; 
she  even  waited  for  the  gas-lamps,  ever  watching  the  bobbing 

c  0 


386  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

of  that  Punch-like  reflection.  Ah !  she  had  a  pretty  com- 
panion with  her  I  What  a  figure  1  It  could  scarcely  be 
attractive !  And  at  the  thought  of  her  unsightliness,  she 
lowered  her  voice,  and  scarcely  dared  to  stammer  :  *  Sir,  just 
listen.' 

It  must  now  be  very  late,  she  thought.  Things  were 
growing  unpleasant  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  eating- 
houses  had  shut  up,  and  voices,  gruff  with  drink,  could  be 
heard  disputing  in  the  wine-shops.  Kevelry  was  turning  to 
quarrelling  and  fisticuffs.      A  big  ragged   chap  roared  out, 

*  I'll  knock  you  to  bits  ;  just  number  your  bones.'  A  woman 
who  had  quarrelled  with  a  man  outside  a  dancing  place,  was 
calling  him  blackguard  and  pig,  whilst  he  kept  on  repeating, 

*  How  about  your  sister  ? '  as  though  he  could  think  of 
nothing  else.  Drink  seemed  to  have  brought  the  revellers  a 
fierce  desire  to  indulge  in  blows,  and  the  passing  pedestrians, 
who  were  now  less  numerous,  hurried  on  with  pale  contracted 
faces.  There  was  a  battle  at  last;  one  drunken  man  came 
down  on  his  back,  with  arms  and  legs  in  the  air,  whilst  his 
comrade,  thinking  that  he  had  done  for  him,  ran  off  with  his 
heavy  shoes  clattering  over  the  pavement. 

Then  after  bands  of  fellows  had  gone  by  braying  coarse 
Bongs,  a  deep  silence  came,  interrupted  only  by  the  hiccoughs 
and  the  falls  of  drunkards.  The  fortnightly  spree  always 
finished  in  this  fashion.  If  a  foreigner  had  visited  the  neigh- 
bourhood at  that  hour  he  would  have  gone  away  with  a  nice 
opinion  of  Paris.  But  the  drunkards  were  at  home,  and 
didn't  care  a  rap  for  Europe  or  America  either.  Knives  were 
at  last  slipped  out,  and  the  little  fete  ended  in  bloodshed. 
Women  now  walked  on  more  hastily,  and  men  prowled 
wolfishly  around,  while  the  night  grew  denser,  heavy  with 
abomination. 

And  Gervaise  still  hobbled  up  and  down,  as  with  the  idea 
of  walking  for  ever.  At  times  she  became  drowsy,  and  went 
to  sleep,  rocked,  as  it  were,  by  her  lame  leg ;  then  she  started 
and  looked  around  her,  and  found  that  she  had  taken  a 
hundred  paces  quite  unconsciously.  Her  feet  were  swelling 
'n  her  ragged  shoes,  but  she  no  longer  felt  anything.  The 
last  clear  thought  that  came  to  her  was  that  her  hussy  of  a 
daughter  was  perhaps  at  that  very  moment  eating  oysters. 
Then  everything  clouded  over  ;  although  her  eyes  remained 
open,  she  found  it  impossible  to  think,  as  that  required 
far  too  great  an  effort.    The  only  thmg  of  which  she  con- 


HUNGER  387 

tinued  conscious,  in  her  utter  annihilation,  was  that  it  was 
frightfully  cold,  so  bitterly,  so  mortally  cold,  that  she  had 
never  known  the  Hke  before.  Why,  even  the  dead  could  not 
feel  so  cold  as  that  in  their  graves  I  At  last  with  difficulty 
she  raised  her  head,  and  something  icy  lashed  her  face.  It 
was  the  snow,  which  had  at  last  made  up  its  mind  to  come 
down  from  the  murky  sky — fine  fast-falling  snow  it  was, 
which  the  breeze  swept  round  and  round.  For  three  days 
it  had  been  expected.  It  fell  at  the  right  time,  and  no 
mistake. 

Roused  by  the  first  gusts,  Gervaise  began  to  walk  faster. 
Men,  eager  to  get  home,  were  now  running  past  with  their 
shoulders  already  white.  But,  as  she  suddenly  saw  one  who, 
on  the  contrary,  was  slowly  coming  towards  her  under  the 
trees,  she  approached  him,  and  again  repeated :  *  Sir,  just 
listen.' 

The  man  had  stopped ;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  have  heard 
her.  He  held  out  his  hand,  and  muttered  in  a  low  voice : 
'  Charity,  if  you  please  !  ' 

Then  they  looked  at  one  another.  God  of  Heaven !  So 
they  had  fallen  to  this — father  Bru  and  Madame  Coupeau  I 
They  remained  stupefied  in  front  of  each  other.  They  could 
well  shake  hands  now.  The  old  workman  had  prowled  around 
throughout  the  evening,  never  daring  to  stop  anyone,  and  the 
first  person  whom  he  accosted  was  one  as  hungry  as  himself. 
Lord  God,  was  it  not  pitiful  ?  To  have  toiled  for  fifty  years, 
and  now  be  obhged  to  beg !  To  have  been  one  of  the  most 
prosperous  laundresses  of  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  and  to 
end  beside  the  gutter !  They  still  looked  at  one  another. 
Then,  without  saying  a  word,  they  went  off  in  different 
directions  under  the  lashing  snow. 

There  was  a  perfect  tempest  now.  On  those  heights,  in 
that  open  expanse,  the  fine  snow  revolved  round  and  round, 
as  if  blown  from  the  four  corners  of  heaven.  One  could  not 
see  ten  paces  off,  everything  was  blurred  by  that  flying  dust. 
The  surroundings  had  disappeared,  the  Boulevard  seemed  life- 
less, as  if  the  storm  had  cast  the  silence  of  its  white  sheet 
over  the  hiccoughs  of  the  last  drunkards.  Gervaise  still  went 
on  painfully,  bhnded,  lost.  She  felt  her  way  by  touching  the 
trees.  As  she  advanced,  the  gas  lamps  shone  out  amidst  the 
whiteness  like  torches.  Then,  suddenly,  whenever  she  crossed 
an  open  space,  these  lights  failed  her;  she  found  herself 
enveloped  by  the  whirUng  snow,  unable  to  distinguish  any- 

oc2 


388  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

thing.  Below  her  stretched  the  ground,  vaguely  white ;  grey 
walls  surrounded  her  ;  and  when  she  paused,  hesitating,  and 
turning  her  head,  she  could  only  divine  that  behind  that  icy 
veil  there  extended  immense  avenues,  and  endless  rows  of 
gas-lamps— all  the  deserted  Infinite  of  slumbering  Paris. 

She  was  standing  where  the  outer  Boulevard  meets  the 
Boulevards  Magenta  and  Ornano,  thinking  of  lying  down  upon 
the  ground,  when  suddenly  she  heard  a  footfall.  At  this  she 
began  to  run,  but  the  snow  blinded  her,  and  the  footsteps 
went  off,  without  it  being  possible  for  her  to  tell  whether  it 
were  to  the  right  or  left.  At  last,  however,  she  perceived  a 
man's  broad  shoulders,  a  dark  form  which  was  disappearing 
amid  the  snow.  Oh !  she'd  stop  that  one,  he  shouldn't  escape 
her  1  And  she  ran  on  all  the  faster,  reached  him,  and  caught 
him  by  the  blouse  :  *  Sir,  sir,  just  listen.' 

The  man  turned  round.     It  was  Goujet. 

Ah  !  what  had  she  done  to  be  tortured  in  that  wise  by 
Providence  ?  To  stumble  against  Goujet,  of  all  men,  was 
the  crowning  blow.  And  this  happened  just  under  a  gas- 
lamp  ;  she  could  see  her  deformed  shadow  swaying  to  and 
fro  on  the  snow  like  a  real  caricature.  One  might  have  said 
she  was  drunk.  Good  Lord  !  to  have  neither  a  crust  of  bread 
nor  a  drop  of  wine  in  her  body,  and  to  be  taken  for  a  drunken 
woman  !  It  was  her  own  fault,  however,  why  did  she  tipple  ? 
Goujet  doubtless  thought  that  she  had  been  drinking,  and  was 
up  to  some  nasty  pranks.  However,  he  looked  at  her  while 
the  snow  scattered  daisies  over  his  beautiful  yeUow  beard. 
Then,  as  she  lowered  her  head  and  stepped  back,  he  detained 
her.     *  Come,'  said  he. 

And  he  walked  on  first.  She  followed  him.  Gliding 
noiselessly  past  the  walls,  they  both  crossed  the  silent  district. 
Poor  Madame  Goujet  had  died  of  rheumatism  in  the  month 
of  October ;  however,  her  son  still  dwelt,  alone  and  gloomy, 
in  the  little  house  in  the  Eue  Neuve.  On  this  occasion  he 
had  been  belated  by  nursing  an  injured  comrade.  When  he 
had  opened  the  door  and  lighted  a  lamp,  he  turned  towards 
Gervaise,  who  had  remained  humbly  on  the  landing,  and,  in 
a  low  voice,  as  if  he  were  afraid  that  his  mother  might  still 
hear  him,  he  exclaimed,  '  Come  in.' 

The  first  room,  Madame  Goujet's,  was  piously  kept  in  the 
same  state  as  she  had  left  it.  The  tambour  lay  near  the 
window  beside  the  large  arm-chair,  which  seemed  to  be  wait- 
ing for  the  old  lace-worker's  return.    The  bed  was  made,  and 


HUNGER  389 

she  might  have  stretched  herself  beneath  the  sheets  had  she 
left  the  cemetery  to  spend  the  evening  with  her  child.  And 
there  was  something  solemn,  a  perfume  of  honesty  and  good- 
ness about  the  whole  room. 

*  Come  in,'  repeated  the  blacksmith  in  a  louder  tone. 

Gervaise  went  in,  half  frightened,  like  a  hussy  gliding  into 
a  respectable  place.  Goujet  was  quite  pale,  and  trembled  at 
the  thought  of  thus  ushering  a  woman  into  his  dead  mother's 
abode.  They  crossed  the  room  on  tiptoe,  as  if  they  were 
ashamed  to  be  heard.  Then,  when  he  had  pushed  Gervaise 
into  his  own  room,  he  closed  the  door.  There  he  was  at 
home.  It  was  the  little  closet  she  was  acquainted  with  ;  a 
schoolboy's  room,  with  a  small  iron  bedstead  hung  with  white 
curtains.  On  the  walls  the  engravings  cut  out  of  the  illus- 
trated newspapers  had  increased  and  spread  in  suchwise  that 
they  now  reached  the  ceiling.  The  room  looked  so  pure  and 
childish  that  Gervaise  did  not  dare  to  advance,  but  retreated 
as  far  as  she  could  from  the  lamp.  Then  without  a  word,  in 
a  transport  as  it  were,  he  put  out  his  arm  to  draw  her  to 
him.  But  her  strength  was  giving  Y:ay,  and  she  murmured  : 
♦Oh,  my  God!  my  God  ! ' 

The  fire  in  the  stove,  which  had  been  covered  with 
some  coke- dust,  was  still  alight,  and  the  remainder  of  a  stew 
which  Goujet  had  put  to  warm,  thinking  that  he  should 
be  home  to  dinner,  was  smoking  in  front  of  the  cinder- 
box.  Gervaise,  who  felt  her  numbness  leave  her  in  that 
pleasant  warmth,  would  have  gone  down  on  all  fours  to  eat 
out  of  the  saucepan.  Her  hunger  was  stronger  than  her  will; 
her  stomach  seemed  rent  atwain ;  and  she  stooped  down  with 
a  sigh.  But  Goujet  had  realised  the  truth.  He  placed  the 
stew  upon  the  table,  cut  some  bread,  and  poured  her  out  a 
glass  of  wine. 

'  Thanks !  thanks  ! '  said  she.  *  Oh,  how  kind  you  are  ! 
Thanks  I ' 

She  stammered ;  she  could  hardly  articulate.  When  she 
caught  hold  of  her  fork  she  began  to  tremble  so  acutely  that 
she  let  it  fall  again.  The  hunger  that  possessed  her  made 
her  wag  her  head.  She  was  obliged  to  carry  the  food  to  her 
mouth  with  her  fingers.  And  as  she  thrust  the  first  potato 
into  her  mouth,  she  burst  out  sobbing.  Big  tears  coursed 
down  her  cheeks  and  fell  upon  her  bread.  But  she  went  on 
eating  gluttonously,  devouring  the  bread  thus  moistened  by 
her  tears,  and  breathing  very  hard.     Goujet  compelled  her  to 


390  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

drink  to  prevent  her  from  stifling,  and  when  she  carried  her 
glass  to  her  mouth,  it  shook  and  grated  against  her  teeth, 

*  Will  you  have  some  more  bread  ? '  he  asked  in  an  under- 
tone. 

She  wept,  she  answered  *  No,'  she  answered  *  Yes,*  she 
couldn't  tell.  Ah,  Lord  I  how  nice  and  yet  how  sad  it  is  to 
eat  when  one  is  starving  ! 

And  he,  standing  in  front  of  her,  looked  at  her  the  whole 
time ;  in  the  bright  light  that  fell  from  the  lamp-shade  he 
could  see  her  well.  How  aged  and  altered  she  was  1  The 
warmth  was  melting  the  snow  on  her  hair  and  clothes,  and 
she  was  dripping.  Her  poor  wagging  head  was  quite  grey ; 
there  were  any  number  of  grey  locks  which  the  wind  had  dis- 
arranged. With  her  neck  sinking  between  her  shoulders,  she 
was  becoming  a  mere  heap  of  flesh,  so  fat  and  ugly  that  one 
might  have  cried  on  noticing  the  change.  And  he  recollected 
their  loves  when  she  had  been  quite  rosy,  and  had  plied  her 
irons  so  vigorously,  showing  her  neck  with  its  pretty  babyish 
fold.  In  those  times  he  had  watched  her  for  hours,  content 
merely  with  looking  at  her.  Later  on,  she  had  come  to  the 
forge,  and  there  they  had  been  very  happy  whilst  he  beat  the 
iron  bolts,  and  she  stood  by  watching  the  dance  of  his  ham- 
mer. Ah  I  in  those  days,  how  he  had  loved  her  I  And  now 
she  was  there  finishing  her  bread,  scouring  the  saucepan,  while 
her  big  silent  tears  still  fell  upon  her  food. 

But  at  last  Gervaise  rose ;  she  had  finished.  She  remained 
for  a  moment  with  her  head  lowered,  and  ill  at  ease.  She 
fancied  that  she  detected  a  gleam  in  Goujet's  eyes  ;  but  he, 
all  at  once,  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  taking  hold  of  her 
hands,  exclaimed  softly,  *  I  love  you,  Madame  Gervaise ;  oh  1 
I  love  you  still  and  in  spite  of  everything,  I  swear  it  to  you.' 

*  Don't  say  that,  Monsieur  Goujet ! '  she  cried,  distracted 
at  seeing  him  at  her  feet.  '  No,  don't  say  that ;  you  grieve 
me  too  much.'  And  as  he  repeated  that  he  could  never  love 
twice  in  his  life,  she  felt  yet  greater  despair.  *  No,  no,'  said 
she,  '  I  am  too  ashamed.  For  the  love  of  God  get  up.  It  is 
my  place  to  be  on  the  ground.* 

He  rose,  trembling  all  over,  and  stammered,  *  Will  you 
allow  me  to  kiss  you  ?  ' 

Overcome  by  surprise  and  emotion  she  could  not  speak, 
but  assented  with  a  nod  of  the  head. 

*  That  suffices  between  us,  Madame  Gervaise.  It  is  all  our 
friendship,  is  it  not  ? '  he  muttered,  as  he  kissed  her  on  the 


HUNGER  391 

brow,  on  a  lock  of  her  grey  straggling  hair.  He  had  not 
kissed  anybody  since  his  mother's  death.  His  sweetheart 
Gervaise  alone  remained  to  him.  And  when  he  had  kissed  her 
m  that  wise,  with  so  much  respect,  he  fell  back  across  his  bed 
half-choked  by  his  sobs.  And  Gervaise  could  remain  there  no 
longer.  When  one  loved  it  was  too  sad  and  too  abominable 
to  meet  again  under  such  circumstances  as  those.  '  I  love  you, 
Monsieur  Goujet,'  she  exclaimed.  '  I  also  love  you  dearly. 
Oh !  I  may  not  stay,  for  I  understand,  I  understand — Good- 
bye, good-bye,  it  would  stifle  us  both.* 

And  then  she  darted  through  Madame  Goujet's  room  and 
once  more  found  herself  outside  on  the  pavement.  When  she 
recovered  her  senses  she  had  rung  at  the  door  in  the  Rue  de 
la  Goutte-d'Or,  and  Boche  was  pulling  the  string.  The  house 
was  quite  dark,  and  in  the  black  night  the  yawning,  dilapi- 
dated porch  looked  like  a  huge  open  mouth.  To  think  that  she 
had  once  been  ambitious  of  securing  a  corner  in  that  barracks  I 
Had  her  ears  been  stopped  up  that  she  had  not  heard  the 
fearful  music  of  despair  which  sounded  behind  the  walls  ? 
Since  the  day  when  she  had  set  foot  in  the  place  she  had 
begun  to  go  downhill.  Yes,  it  must  bring  bad  luck  to  be 
jumbled,  one  a-top  of  another,  in  those  big  workmen's  houses ; 
the  cholera  of  misery  was  contagious  there.  That  night  every- 
one seemed  to  have  croaked.  She  could  only  hear  the  Boches 
snoring  on  the  right-hand  side,  and  on  reaching  the  courtyard 
she  fancied  that  she  was  in  a  perfect  cemetery ;  the  snow 
paved  the  ground  with  white ;  the  high  frontages,  livid  grey 
in  hue,  rose  up  unlighted  like  ruined  walls,  and  not  a  sigh 
could  be  heard  ;  it  seemed  as  if  a  whole  village,  stiffened  by 
cold  and  hunger,  were  buried  there.  And  she  had  to  step  over 
a  stream  of  black  water  from  the  dye-works,  which  steamed 
and  coursed  hke  mud  athwart  the  whiteness  of  the  snow. 
That  stream  was  the  colour  of  her  thoughts.  The  beautiful 
waters,  softly  blue  or  softly  pink,  had  long  since  flowed  away ! 

Then,  as  she  cUmbed  the  six  flights  of  stairs  in  the  dark, 
she  could  not  refrain  from  laughing  with  an  ugly  laugh,  which 
hurt  her.  She  recalled  her  ideal  of  former  times  :  to  be  able 
to  work  in  peace,  always  to  have  bread  to  eat,  and  a  tidy  home 
to  sleep  in,  to  bring  up  her  children  properly,  to  live  without 
being  beaten,  and  to  die  in  her  bed.  Eeally  now  it  was 
comical  how  all  that  was  being  reahsedl  She  no  longer 
worked,  she  no  longer  ate,  she  slept  on  filth,  her  daughter  had 
gone  to  the  bad,  and  her  husband  drubbed  her ;    aU  that  was 


392  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

left  for  her  to  do  was  to  die  on  the  pavement,  and  that  would 
not  take  long  if  on  reaching  her  room  she  could  only  pluck  up 
enough  courage  to  fling  herself  from  the  window.  Might  one 
not  have  imagined  that  she  had  asked  heaven  for  thirty 
thousand  francs  a  year  and  no  end  of  respect  ?  Ah  !  really, 
it  is  of  no  use  being  modest  in  this  Ufe  ;  one  only  gets  sat 
upon  for  one's  pains  1  Not  even  food  and  a  nest,  such  is  the 
common  lot.  And  her  ugly  laugh  became  broader  at  the 
recollection  of  her  grand  hope  of  retiring  into  the  country  after 
she  had  spent  twenty  years  as  a  laundress.  Well  I  she  was 
on  her  way  to  the  country  now.  She  would  have  her  green 
corner  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere-Lachaise. 

When  she  entered  the  passage,  she  was  like  a  mad 
woman.  Her  poor  head  was  whirling.  In  reality  her  great 
grief  came  from  having  bid  the  blacksmith  an  eternal  fare- 
well. All  was  ended  between  them,  they  would  never  see 
each  other  more.  Then,  too,  every  other  subject  of  grief  and 
woe  pressed  upon  her  and  made  her  head  split.  As  she 
passed,  she  peeped  in  at  the  Bijards'  and  saw  Lalie  lying  dead, 
with  a  look  of  contentment  on  her  face  at  being  at  last 
stretched  out  and  slumbering  for  ever.  Ah  well  I  thought 
Gervaise,  children  were  luckier  than  grown-up  people  !  And, 
as  a  glimmer  of  light  escaped  from  under  old  Bazouge's  door, 
she  walked  boldly  in,  with  a  rageful  desire  to  depart  on  the 
same  journey  as  the  little  one. 

That  old  jester  Bazouge  had  come  home  that  night  in  an 
extraordinary  state  of  gaiety.  He  had  indulged  in  such  a 
carouse,  that  he  was  snoring  on  the  floor  in  spite  of  the  cold ; 
which  apparently  did  not  prevent  him  from  dreaming  of 
something  pleasant,  for  he  seemed  to  be  laughing  as  he  slept. 
The  candle,  which  he  had  not  blown  out,  lighted  up  all  his 
old  toggery,  his  hat  which  lay  flattened  in  a  corner,  and  his 
black  cloak  which  he  had  drawn  over  his  knees,  as  though  it 
had  been  a  rug. 

On  beholding  him  Gervaise  gave  vent  to  such  a  loud 
wail,  that  he  awoke.  '  Confound  it  I  just  shut  the  door ! 
It's  so  cold  !  Ah  !  it's  you  I  What's  the  matter  ?  what  do 
you  want  ?  '  he  asked. 

Then  Gervaise,  stretching  out  her  arms,  and  no  longer 
knowing  what  she  stuttered,  began  to  implore  him  pas- 
sionately :  *  Ah  !  take  me  away,  I've  had  enough  of  it  all ;  I 
want  to  go  off.  You  mustn't  bear  me  any  grudge.  I  didn't 
know,  good  heavens  I     One   never  knows  till  one's  ready. 


HUNGER  393 

Oh  I  yes,  one  is  indeed  glad  to  go  one  day  I  Take  me  away, 
take  me  away,  and  I  will  thank  you.' 

She  fell  upon  her  knees,  quivering  and  paling  with  desire 
for  death.  Never  before  had  she  thus  dragged  herself  at  a 
man's  feet.  Old  Bazouge's  phiz,  with  mouth  distorted, 
and  dirty  skin,  seemed  to  her  as  beautiful  and  resplendent 
as  the  sun.  However,  the  old  fellow,  who  was  scarcely  awake, 
thought  that  this  must  all  be  some  practical  joke.  *Isay 
now,'  he  mm'mured  *  you  mustn't  try  to  get  at  me !  ' 

'•  Take  me  away,'  repeated  Gervaise,  more  ardently  still. 
*  You  remember  that  I  knocked  one  evening  against  the  par- 
tition, and  then  said  that  I  hadn't  done  so.  But  that  was 
because  I  was  still  a  fool.  See  1  give  me  your  hands,  I'm  no 
longer  frightened  now.  Take  me  away  to  by-by  ;  you'll  see 
how  still  I'll  be.  Oh  !  that's  all  I  care  for.  Oh  1  do  take  me 
away,  I'll  love  you  so  much,  so  much  I  ' 

Bazouge,  ever  gallant,  thought  that  he  ought  not  to  be 
hasty  with  a  lady  who  appeared  to  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to 
him.  Her  mind  was  wandering,  but  all  the  same  she  seemed 
by  no  means  bad  looking  in  her  excitement. 

'  What  you  say  is  very  true,'  he  said,  with  an  air  of  con- 
viction. *  I  packed  up  three  more  to-day,  who  would  have 
given  me  a  handsome  gratuity,  if  they  could  only  have  got 
their  hands  to  their  pockets.  But  you  know,  my  little  woman, 
it's  not  so  easily  settled  as  all  that ' 

*  Oh  !  Take  me  away,  take  me  away,'  Gervaise  still  went 
on,  *  I  want  to  go  off ' 

'  Ah  !  but  there's  a  little  operation  to  be  gone  through 
beforehand — you  know,  crick  1  '  he  replied,  bringing  a  sound 
from  his  throat  as  though  he  were  swallowing  his  tongue. 
And  then  thinking  this  a  good  joke,  he  chuckled. 

Gervaise  slowly  rose  to  her  feet.  So  he  too  could  do 
nothing  for  her.  And  thereupon  she  returned  to  her  room 
and  threw  herself  upon  her  straw,  regretting  that  she  had 
eaten.     Ah  1  no,  indeed,  misery  did  not  kill  one  quick  enough. 


XIII 

DEATH 

That  night,  Coupeau  went  on  the  batter.  On  the 
morrow,  Sunday,  Gervaise  received  ten  francs  from  her  son 
Etienne,  who  was  now  an  engineer  on  a  railway  line.    The 


394  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

youngster  sent  her  a  few  francs  from  time  to  time,  knowing 
that  there  were  very  short  commons  at  home.  So  she  made 
some  beef  soup,  and  ate  it  all  alone,  for  that  scoundrel 
Coupeau  did  not  return.  On  the  Monday  he  was  still  absent, 
and  on  the  Tuesday  also.  In  fact  the  whole  week  went  by 
without  sign  of  him.  Ah  !  if  only  some  lady  had  carried  him 
off,  that  would  indeed  be  a  piece  of  good  luck  1  But  on  the 
ensuing  Sunday  it  happened  that  Gervaise  received  a  printed 
paper,  which  at  first  frightened  her,  because  it  looked  like  a 
communication  from  the  commissary  of  police.  However,  she 
was  soon  at  ease,  for  it  was  merely  to  inform  her  that  her  pig 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  croak  at  the  Sainte-Anne  Asylum.  The 
paper  was  worded  more  politely  than  that,  only  it  amounted 
to  the  same  thing.  And  so  it  was,  indeed,  a  lady  who  had 
got  hold  of  Coupeau,  and  her  name  was  Sophie-Put-'em-to- 
Sleep,  the  drunkard's  last  good  friend. 

Truth  to  tell,  Gervaise  did  not  disturb  herself  1  Coupeau 
knew  the  way,  and  could  very  well  get  home  from  the  asylum 
by  himself.  They  had  cured  him  there  so  often  that  they 
would  no  doubt  once  more  do  him  the  sorry  service  of  setting 
him  on  his  pins  again.  Had  she  not  heard  that  very  morning 
that  all  through  the  week  he  had  been  seen  roUing  about  Belle- 
ville from  one  dram-shop  to  another  in  the  company  of  My- 
Boots  I  Yes,  indeed,  and  it  was  My-Boots,  too,  who  stood 
treat.  He  must  have  secured  the  stocking  in  which  his  wife 
kept  all  her  savings.  Gervaise  was  particularly  furious  that 
these  selfish  topers  had  not  even  thought  of  calhng  for  her 
and  standing  her  a  drink.  Had  any  one  ever  heard  of  such  a 
thing  ?— a  whole  week's  carouse,  and  not  the  least  gallantry 
shown  to  the  ladies  I  When  men  swill  by  themselves,  they 
may  croak  by  themselves,  that  was  her  view  of  the  matter. 

However,  on  the  Monday,  as  Gervaise  had  a  nice  little 
meal  in  reserve  for  the  evening,  the  remains  of  some  beans, 
and  a  pint  of  wine,  she  pretended  to  herself  chat  a  walk  would 
give  her  an  appetite.  The  letter  from  the  asylum,  which  she 
had  left  lying  on  the  drawers,  had  ended  by  bothering  her. 
The  snow  having  melted,  the  weather  was  mild  and  grey,  and 
on  the  whole  fine,  with  just  a  slight  keenness  in  the  air  which 
was  invigorating.  She  started  at  noon,  for  the  walk  was  a 
long  one.  She  had  to  cross  Paris,  and  her  lame  leg  was 
always  lagging.  Besides,  the  streets  were  crowded.  However, 
the  people  amused  her,  and  she  reached  her  destination  very 
pleasantly.    When  she  had  given  her  name,  she  was  told  a 


DEATH  395 

most  astounding  story,  to  the  effect  that  Coupeau  had  been 
fished  out  of  the  river,  near  the  Pont-Neuf.  He  had  jumped 
over  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  under  the  impression  that  a 
bearded  man  was  barring  his  way.  A  fine  jump,  was  it  not  ? 
And  as  for  finding  out  how  Coupeau  had  happened  to  be  on 
the  Pont-Neuf,  that  was  a  matter  which  even  he  himself 
could  not  explain. 

However,  one  of  the  keepers  escorted  Gervaise,  who  was 
ascending  a  staircase,  when  she  heard  a  loud  howling  which 
made  her  shiver  to  her  bones. 

*  Eh  !  he's  playing  a  nice  music,  isn't  he  ? '  observed  the 
keeper. 

*  Who  is  ?  '  she  asked. 

*  Why,  your  old  man  !  He's  been  yelling  like  that  ever 
since  the  day  before  yesterday ;  and  he  dances,  you'll  just 
see.* 

Ah,  good  heavens !  what  a  sight  it  was  !  She  stood  as 
one  transfixed.  The  cell  was  padded  from  floor  to  ceiling. 
On  the  floor  were  two  straw  mats,  one  above  the  other  ;  while 
in  a  corner  were  spread  a  mattress  and  a  bolster,  nothing 
more.  Inside  the  place  Coupeau  was  dancing  and  yelling. 
He  looked  like  a  regular  guy  of  the  faubourgs,  with  his  blouse 
in  tatters  and  his  limbs  beating  the  air  ;  but  not  a  funny  guy — 
oh  dear  no  I — rather  a  guy  whose  terrible  capers  made  every 
hair  of  your  head  stand  up  on  end.  He  wore  the  mask  of  one 
who  is  about  to  die.  And  what  a  breakdown  dance  his  was ! 
He  bumped  up  against  the  window,  then  retired  backwards, 
beating  time  with  his  arms,  and  shaking  his  hands  as  though 
he  were  trying  to  wrench  them  off  and  fling  them  in  some- 
body's face.  One  may  meet  jokers  in  low  dancing  places,  who 
imitate  the  drunkard's  rigadoon,  only  they  imitate  it  badly. 
If  one  would  wish  to  know  what  it  is  really  like,  one  must  see 
it  when  it  is  gone  through  in  earnest.  The  song  also  has  its 
merits,  a  continuous  carnivalesque  yell,  with  mouth  wide 
open  and  sending  forth  the  same  hoarse  trombone  notes  for 
hours  together.  Coupeau,  for  his  part,  vented  the  howl  of  a 
beast  with  a  crushed  paw.  And  it  was  strike  up  music ! 
Gentlemen,  choose  your  partners ! 

*  Good  Lord !  what  is  the  matter  with  him  ?,  What  is  the 
matter  with  him  ? '  repeated  Gervaise,  full  of  fear. 

A  house-surgeon,  a  big,  fair,  rosy-cheeked  fellow,  wearing 
a  white  apron,  sat  there  quietly  taking  notes.  The  case  was 
a  curious  one ;    and  he  did  not  leave  the  patient.     '  Stay  a 


396  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

while  if  you  like,*  he  said  to  the  laundress ;  *  but  keep  quiet. 
You  may  speak  to  him,  but  he  won't  recognise  you.' 

Coupeau,  indeed,  did  not  even  appear  to  see  his  wife.  She 
had  obtained  but  a  bad  view  of  him  on  entering,  as  he  was 
wriggling  about  so  much.  When  she  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  she  stood  aghast.  Good  heavens  I  was  it  possible  that 
he  had  such  a  countenance  as  that,  with  bloodshot  eyes  and 
scabby  lips  ?  She  would  certainly  never  have  known  him. 
To  begin  with,  he  made  too  many  senseless  grimaces, 
suddenly  twisting  his  phiz,  curling  up  his  nose,  and  drawing 
in  his  cheeks  till  he  had  quite  an  animal's  muzzle.  His  skin 
was  so  hot,  too,  that  the  air  steamed  around  him  ;  and  his 
hide  was  as  though  varnished,  covered  with  a  heavy  sweat 
which  trickled  off  him.  Despite  his  mad  dance,  one  could 
divine  that  he  was  not  at  his  ease,  that  his  head  was  heavy, 
and  that  his  limbs  ached. 

Gervaise  drew  near  to  the  house-surgeon,  who  was 
strumming  a  tune  with  his  finger-tips  on  the  back  of  his 
chair. 

*  I  say,  sir,  it's  serious  then,  this  time  ?  *  she  said. 
The  house-surgeon  nodded  without  answering. 

*  I  say,  isn't  he  jabbering  to  himself  ?  '  continued  Gervaise. 
*  Eh  1  don't  you  hear  ?  what's  it  all  about  ? ' 

'  About  things  he  sees,'  murmured  the  young  man.  *  Keep 
quiet,  let  me  listen.' 

Coupeau  was  speaking  in  a  jerky  voice  while  a  glimmer  of 
fun  Ut  up  his  eyes.  He  looked  at  the  floor,  to  the  right,  and 
to  the  left,  and  turned  about  as  though  he  had  been  strolling 
in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes,  conversing  with  himself.  *  Ah ! 
that's  nice,  that's  fine  ! — There  are  a  lot  of  chalets,  a  regular 
fair,  in  fact.  And  some  jolly  fine  music  I  What  a  feast,  too  ! 
They're  smashing  the  crockery  in  there — Ah  !  that's  the 
ticket !  Now  it's  being  lit  up  ;  why  there  are  some  red  balls 
in  the  air,  and  they  jump  about  and  fly  away  !  Oh  I  oh  ! 
what  a  lot  of  lanterns  in  the  trees  ! — It's  awfully  pleasant. 
There's  water  flowing  everywhere,  fountains,  cascades  of  it, 
and  water  that  sings,  too,  oh  !  with  the  voice  of  a  chorister — 
those  cascades  are  grand,  and  no  mistake  !  ' 

Then  he  drew  himself  up,  as  though  the  better  to  hear 
the  delicious  song  of  the  water  ;  and  inhaled  the  air,  fancying 
all  the  time  that  he  was  drinking  the  fresh  spray  blown  from 
the  fountains.  But,  little  by  Httle,  an  expression  of  anguish 
again  came  over  his  face.     Then  he  crouched  down,  and  flew 


DEATH  397 

quicker  than  ever  round  the  walls  of  the  cell,  while  uttering 
low  threats. 

*  More  traps  1  I  thought  as  much — Silence,  you  loafers  I 
Yes,  you're  making  a  fool  of  me.  It's  for  that  you're  drinking 
and  bawling  inside  there  with  your  hussies.  But  I'll  demolish 
you,  you  and  your  chalet  I  Damnation  I  will  you  leave  me 
in  peace  ?  * 

He  clinched  his  fists,  then  uttered  a  hoarse  cry,  stooping 
as  he  ran  ;  and  afterwards,  his  teeth  chattering  with  fright, 
he  stuttered:  '  It's  just  to  make  me  kill  myself.  But  no,  I 
won't  throw  myself  in  1  All  that  water  means  that  I've  no 
heart.     No,  I  won't  throw  myself  in  ! ' 

The  cascades,  which  fled  at  his  approach,  advanced  when 
he  retired.  And  all  at  once  he  looked  stupidly  around  him, 
mumbling,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice :  '  It  isn't  possible, 
they've  set  conjurers  against  me  I ' 

*  I'm  off,  sir,  good-evening  I '  at  that  moment  saidGervaise 
to  the  house-surgeon.  *  It  upsets  me  too  much  ;  I'll  come 
again.' 

She  was  quite  white.  Coupeau  meantime  was  continuing 
his  break-down  dance  from  the  window  to  the  mattress,  and 
from  the  mattress  to  the  window,  ever  perspiring,_  exerting 
himself  and  beating  the  same  measure.  She  hurried  away, 
but  although  she  scrambled  down  the  stairs,  she  heard  her 
husband's  fearful  jig  until  she  reached  the  bottom.  Ah  I 
good  heavens  I  how  much  pleasanter  it  was  out  of  doors,  one 
could  breathe  there ! 

That  evening  every  occupant  of  the  house  in  the  Eue  de  la 
Goutte-d'Or  talked  of  old  Coupeau's  strange  illness.  The 
Boches,  though  they  now  treated  the  Hobbler  in  a  most  off- 
hand manner,  offered  her  a  drink  in  their  room,  just  to 
obtain  particulars.  Madame  Lorilleux  looked  in,  Madame 
Poisson  also,  and  there  were  endless  remarks.  Boche  had 
been  acquainted  with  a  carpenter,  an  absinthe  drinker,  who 
in  his  last  attack  had  gone  along  the  Rue  Saint-Martin  stark 
naked,  and  had  there  died  dancing  the  polka.  The  ladies 
laughed  at  this,  because  it  seemed  to  them  very  funny, 
although  it  was  sad.  Then,  as  they  did  not  quite  compre- 
hend the  drunkard's  dance,  Gervaise  pushed  them  aside,  and 
called  for  room ;  and,  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment,  she 
acted  Coupeau,  bawling,  jumping,  and  throwing  herself  about 
with  the  most  abominable  grimaces.  Yes,  honour  bright ! 
Baid  she,  it  was  exactly  like  that  /     Then  the  others  expressed 


398  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

their  amazement :  it  could  not  be  possible !  a  man  could 
never  have  lasted  three  hours  at  such  a  game.  Well !  she 
swore  it  was  so  by  all  she  held  most  sacred  :  Coupeau  had 
been  at  it  since  the  previous  day,  thirty-six  hours  already. 
Besides,  if  they  did  not  believe  her,  they  could  go  and  see  for 
themselves. 

Madame  Lorilleux,  however,  declared — thank  you  foi 
nothing  1 — that  she  had  had  enough  of  Sainte-Anne  ;  she 
would  even  prevent  Lorilleux  from  putting  a  foot  inside  the 
place.  As  for  Virginie,  whose  shop  was  now  going  from  bad 
to  worse,  and  who  had  a  most  funereal  countenance,  she  con- 
tented herself  with  murmuring  that  life  was  not  always  gay, 
ah  1  indeed,  no  I  Then  the  glasses  being  empty,  Gervaise 
wished  the  company  good-night.  Directly  she  had  left  off 
speaking,  she  looked  dazed,  bewildered,  half -mad  herself,  her 
eyes  dilating  as  if  she  could  still  see  her  husband  stepping  his 
crazy  waltz. 

On  getting  up  the  next  morning,  she  said  to  herself  that 
she  would  not  return  to  Sainte-Anne  again.  What  use  would 
it  be  ?  Besides  she  did  not  want  to  go  off  her  chump  as 
Coupeau  had  done.  However,  every  ten  minutes  or  so  she 
fell  into  a  musing  fit.  It  would  be  curious  to  know  if  he 
were  still  throwing  his  legs  about.  And  when  twelve  o'clock 
struck,  she  could  no  longer  resist  the  impulse  to  return  to  the 
asylum  ;  she  started  off  and  did  not  even  notice  how  long  the 
walk  was,  to  such  a  degree  was  she  possessed  by  inquisitive- 
ness  and  dread  as  to  what  might  be  awaiting  her. 

Oh  I  there  was  no  occasion  to  ask  for  news.  She  heard 
Coupeau's  song  as  soon  as  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case. It  was  just  the  same  tune,  just  the  same  dance  as  on 
the  day  before.  She  might  have  thought  she  was  going  up 
again  after  a  moment's  absence.  The  attendant  of  the 
previous  day,  who  was  carrying  some  jugs  full  of  diet  drink 
along  the  corridor,  winked  as  he  met  her,  by  way  of  doing 
the  amiable. 

'  Still  the  same,  then  ? '  said  she. 

•  Oh  !  still  the  same  I  '  he  replied  without  stopping. 

She  entered,  but  remained  near  the  door  on  seeing  that 
there  were  some  people  with  Coupeau.  The  fair-haired,  rosy- 
cheeked  house-surgeon  was  standing  erect,  having  given  his 
chair  to  a  bald-headed  old  gentleman  who  had  a  face  like  a 
martin,  and  was  decorated.     He  was  no  doubt  the  chief 


DEATH  399 

doctor,  for  his  glance  was  as  sharp  and  piercing  as  a  gimlet. 
All  the  dealers  in  sudden  death  have  a  glance  like  that. 

Gervaise,  however,  had  not  come  to  look  at  this  gentleman, 
BO  she  raised  herself  on  tiptoe  behind  his  bald  pate,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  Coupeau,  who  was  dancing  and  yelling  yet 
louder  than  on  the  previous  day.  She  remembered  that  in 
former  times,  at  the  Mid-Lent  balls,  for  instance,  she  had 
seen  sturdy  wash-house  porters  cutting  capers  for  a  whole 
night ;  but  never,  no  never,  would  she  have  imagined  that  a 
man  could  take  pleasure  in  it  so  long  as  Coupeau  did.  And 
when  she  talked  of  pleasure,  this  was  merely  a  figure  of 
speech,  for  there  can  be  no  pleasure  in  turning  somersault 
after  somersault  in  spite  of  oneself,  as  though  one  has 
swallowed  a  powder  magazine.  The  only  difference  which 
she  noticed  in  Coupeau  was  that  he  steamed  rather  more  than 
on  the  previous  afternoon,  and  that  his  mouth  seemed  to  have 
grown  larger  through  force  of  shouting.  And  he  had  walked 
BO  often  from  the  mattress  to  the  window,  that  he  had  made 
quite  a  little  path  along  the  floor ;  the  matting  was  worn 
away  by  his  old  shoes. 

Really,  now,  it  was  not  a  pretty  sight ;  and  Gervaise,  all 
in  a  tremble,  asked  herself  why  she  had  returned.  To  think 
that  they  had  accused  her  at  the  Boches'  of  having  exaggerated 
the  picture  !  Ah  !  well,  she  had  not  done  half  enough  !  She 
now  saw  better  how  Coupeau  set  about  it,  and  most  assuredly 
she  would  never  be  able  to  forget  it ;  whenever  she  might 
stare  into  space  it  would  be  there  before  her.  However,  she 
overheard  a  few  words  which  the  house-surgeon  and  the 
head-doctor  exchanged.  The  former  was  giving  some  par- 
ticulars of  the  night  which  her  husband  had  passed.  She  did 
not  understand  all  the  words  which  were  used,  but  they  simply 
amounted  to  this — he  had  chattered  and  thrown  himself 
about.  Then  the  bald-headed  old  gentleman,  who,  by  the 
way,  was  not  very  polite,  at  length  appeared  to  notice  her 
presence ;  and  when  the  house-surgeon  had  informed  him 
that  she  was  the  patient's  wife,  he  began  to  question  her  in 
the  harsh  manner  of  a  commissary  of  police. 

*  Did  this  man's  father  drink  ? ' 

*  Yes,  sir,  just  a  little,  like  every  one.  He  killed  himself 
by  falling  from  a  roof,  one  day  when  he  was  tipsy.' 

*  Did  his  mother  drink  ?  ' 

'  Well  1  sir,  like  every  one  else,  you  know,  a  drop  here,  a 


400  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

drop  there.  Oh  !  the  family  is  very  respectable  I  There  was 
a  brother  who  died  very  young  in  convulsions.' 

The  doctor  looked  at  her  with  his  piercing  eyes,  and  then 
resumed  in  his  rough  voice  :  '  And  you,  do  you  drink  ?  ' 

Gervaise  stammered,  protested,  and  placed  her  hand  on 
her  heart  as  though  to  take  a  solemn  oath.  But  the  doctor 
went  on  :  *  You  drink  1  Take  care,  see  where  drink  leads  to. 
One  day  or  another,  you  will  die  like  this.' 

Then  she  remained  close  to  the  wall.  The  doctor  had 
turned  his  back  on  her.  He  squatted  down,  never  troubling 
as  to  whether  his  overcoat  might  pick  up  the  dust  on  the 
matting ;  and  for  a  long  while  he  studied  Coupeau's  trembhng, 
waiting  for  its  reappearance,  and  following  it  with  his  glance. 
That  day  the  legs  were  going  in  their  turn,  the  trembling  had 
descended  from  the  hands  to  the  feet ;  and  Coupeau  looked 
like  a  real  puppet  whose  strings  were  being  pulled  ;  his  limbs 
darting  hither  and  thither,  whilst  the  trunk  of  his  body 
remained  as  stiff  as  a  piece  of  wood.  The  disease  spread 
little  by  little.  It  was  as  if  there  had  been  a  musical  box 
beneath  Coupeau's  skin ;  the  trembling  started  afresh  every 
three  or  four  seconds,  continued  for  an  instant,  then  stopped, 
and  then  started  again,  just  like  the  little  shiver  which  shakes 
stray  dogs  in  winter,  when  they  halt  in  some  doorway  for 
protection.  And  at  last  even  Coupeau's  abdomen  and 
shoulders  began  to  quiver  like  water  on  the  point  of  boiling. 
It  was  a  strange  ending  all  the  same,  to  die  wriggling  like  a 
girl  who  is  being  tickled. 

However,  Coupeau  was  complaining  in  a  hollow  voice. 
He  seemed  to  suffer  far  more  than  on  the  previous  day.  His 
broken  murmurs  allowed  one  to  divine  that  he  experienced 
all  sorts  of  ailments.  Thousands  of  pins  were  pricking  him. 
He  felt  something  heavy  all  over  his  body  ;  some  cold  wet 
animal  was  crawling  over  his  thighs  and  digging  its  fangs 
into  his  flesh.  Then  other  animals  were  clinging  to  his 
shoulders  and  tearing  his  back  with  their  claws. 

'  I'm  thirsty,  oh  !  I'm  thirsty ! '  he  groaned  continually. 

At  last  the  house-surgeon  took  a  jug  of  lemonade  from  a 
small  shelf  and  gave  it  to  him.  He  caught  hold  of  it  with 
both  hands,  and  greedily  took  a  mouthful,  spilling  half  the 
liquid  over  himself ;  but  with  furious  disgust  he  at  once  spat 
out  the  little  which  had  entered  his  mouth  and  exclaimed : 
*  Damnation,  it's  brandy  ! ' 

Then,  on  a  sign  from  the  head  doctor,  the  house-surgeon 


DEATH  401 

tried  to  make  him  drink  some  water,  and  this  time,  he 
swallowed  a  mouthful,  yelling,  however,  as  though  he  had 
swallowed  fire  :  *  It's  brandy,  damnation  1  it's  brandy  1 ' 

Since  the  previous  night,  everything  given  him  to  drink 
was  to  his  taste  brandy.  It  increased  his  thirst,  and  he 
could  no  longer  drink,  because  everything  burnt  him.  They 
had  brought  him  some  broth,  but,  in  his  opinion,  they  were 
trying  to  poison  him,  for  the  broth  smelt  of  '  vitriol.'  The 
bread,  too,  was  sour  and  mouldy.  There  was  nothing  but 
poison  around  him.  The  cell  stank  of  sulphur.  Indeed,  he 
even  accused  persons  of  striking  lucifers  under  his  nose  in 
order  to  infect  him. 

The  doctor  had  now  risen,  and  was  listening  to  Coupeau, 
who  in  the  full  daylight  was  again  troubled  with  visions  of 
phantoms.  He  fancied  that  he  saw  cobwebs  on  the  walls  as 
big  as  the  sails  of  ships  I  Then  these  cobwebs  became  nets, 
whose  meshes  grew  smaller  or  larger,  a  queer  sort  of  play- 
thing !  Black  balls,  too,  passed  in  and  out  of  the  meshes, 
perfect  juggler's  balls,  at  first  as  small  as  marbles,  and  then 
as  big  as  round  shot ;  and  they  increased  and  they  decreased 
in  size,  just  with  the  object  of  bothering  him.  And  all  of  a 
sudden,  he  exclaimed :  *  Oh  1  the  rats,  there  are  the  rats, 
now  1 ' 

It  was  the  balls  that  were  changing  into  rats.  These 
filthy  animals  grew  fatter  and  fatter,  passed  through  the  net, 
and  jumped  upon  the  mattress  where  they  vanished.  There 
was  also  a  monkey  which  came  out  of  the  wall,  and  went 
back  into  the  wall,  each  time  approaching  so  closely  to 
Coupeau  that  he  drew  back  through  fear  of  having  his  nose 
bitten  off.  Suddenly,  there  was  yet  another  change ;  to  his 
eyes  no  doubt  the  walls  seemed  to  be  cutting  capers,  for, 
choking  with  terror  and  rage,  he  yelled :  *  That's  it,  gee  up ! 
go  it !  shake  me,  I  don't  care  ! — Gee  up  I  shanty  I  gee  up ! 
tumble  down  1  Yes,  ring  the  bells,  you  set  of  crows !  play 
the  organ  to  prevent  me  from  calling  the  police  1 — And 
they've  put  a  machine  behind  the  wall,  the  scoundrels!  I 
can  hear  it !  it  snorts,  they're  going  to  blow  us  up — Fire  I 
damnation  !  fire  1  There's  a  cry  of  fire !  there  it  blazes,  see  ! 
Oh !  it's  getting  lighter,  lighter  1  all  the  sky's  burning,  red 
fires,  green  fires,  yellow  fires — Hi !  help  !  fire  1 ' 

His  cries  died  away  in  a  rattle.  He  now  only  mumbled 
disconnected  words,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  and  his  chin  wet 
with  saliva.    The  doctor  rubbed  his  nose  with  his  finger,  a 

DD 


402  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

movement  which  was  no  doubt  habitual  with  him  when  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  serious  cases.  And  he  turned  to  the 
house-surgeon,  and  asked  him  in  a  low  voice :  *  And  the 
temperature,  still  a  hundred  and  four  degrees,  is  it  not  ?  * 

*  Yes,  sir.' 

The  doctor  pouted.  He  remained  there  for  another  two 
minutes  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Coupeau,  and  then  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  he  added  :  *  The  same  treatment,  broth,  milk, 
lemonade,  and  the  potion  of  extract  of  quinine.  Don't 
leave  him,  and  call  me  if  necessary.' 

He  went  out,  and  Gervaise  followed  him,  to  ask  him  if 
there  were  any  hope.  But  he  walked  so  stiffly  along  the 
corridor,  that  she  did  not  dare  to  approach  him.  For  a 
moment  she  remained  there,  hesitating  whether  she  ought  to 
return  to  her  husband.  The  time  that  she  had  already  passed 
with  him  had  been  far  from  pleasant ;  and  as  she  again  heard 
him  bawling  that  the  lemonade  smelt  of  brandy,  she  hurried 
away,  having  had  enough  of  the  performance.  In  the  streets, 
the  galloping  of  the  horses  and  the  clatter  of  the  vehiclea 
made  her  fancy  that  all  the  inmates  of  Sainte-Anne  were  at 
her  heels.  And  she  thought  too  of  that  doctor  who  had 
threatened  her,  and  already  fancied  that  she  herself  had  tha 
complaint. 

In  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or,  the  Boches  and  the  othera 
naturally  enough  were  waiting  for  her.  The  moment  she 
appeared  she  was  called  into  the  doorkeepers'  room.  Well  I 
was  old  Coupeau  still  in  the  land  of  the  living  ?  Good 
heavens  1  yes,  he  still  lived.  Boche  seemed  amazed,  con- 
founded at  hearing  it ;  he  had  wagered  a  quart  of  wine  that 
Coupeau  would  not  last  till  the  evening.  What  I  he  still 
lived  1  And  they  all  displayed  their  astonishment,  and 
slapped  their  thighs.  There  was  a  sturdy  fellow  for  you  I 
Madame  Lorilleux  reckoned  up  the  hours:  thirty-six  and 
twenty-four  made  sixty  hours.  To  think  of  it  I  he  had 
already  been  performing  with  his  mouth  and  legs  for  sixty 
hours  I  Such  a  feat  of  strength  had  never  been  seen  before  I 
However,  Boche,  who  on  account  of  his  wager  was  laughing 
on  the  wrong  side  of  his  mouth,  began  to  question  Gervaise 
with  an  air  of  doubt,  asking  her  if  she  were  quite  sure  that 
he  had  not  filed  off  behind  her  back.  Oh  1  no,  he  had  no 
desire  to,  he  jumped  about  too  much,  said  she.  Then  Boche, 
still  doubting,  begged  her  to  show  them  again  how  he  went 
on.    Yes,  yes,  a  little  more  I  the  request  was  general.    The 


DEATH  403 

company  told  her  that  it  would  be  very  amiable  of  her  to 
repeat  her  performance,  for  two  neighbours,  who  had  not 
been  present  on  the  previous  day,  had  come  down  purposely 
to  see  it.  Then  the  doorkeeper  called  to  the  company  to 
make  room  ;  and  they  cleared  the  centre  of  the  apartment, 
nudging  one  another,  and  quivering  with  curiosity.  Gervaise, 
however,  hung  her  head.  Eeally  now,  she  was  afraid 
of  making  herself  ill.  Nevertheless,  desirous  as  she  was  of 
showing  that  she  did  not  refuse  for  the  sake  of  being  pressed, 
she  tried  two  or  three  little  leaps ;  but  she  at  once  became 
quite  queer,  and  threw  herself  back  ;  no,  really,  on  her  word 
of  honour,  she  was  not  equal  to  it ! 

There  was  a  murmur  of  disappointment ;  what  a  pity,  for 
on  the  previous  day  she  had  imitated  it  perfectly.  However, 
if  she  could  not  do  it,  it  was  of  no  use  insisting  1  And  then, 
on  Virginie  returning  to  her  shop,  the  others  forgot  old 
Coupeau,  to  gossip  about  the  Poissons  and  their  home,  which 
was  now  a  regular  bear-garden.  On  the  day  before,  the 
bailiffs  had  called  there  ;  the  policeman,  too,  was  about  to  be 
dismissed,  while  as  for  Lantier,  he  was  now  making  up  to  the 
girl  of  the  adjoining  eating-house,  a  fine  young  woman,  who 
talked  of  setting  up  as  a  tripe-seller.  Ah  !  it  was  amusing, 
and  no  mistake,  everyone  already  beheld  a  tripe-seller 
occupying  the  Poissons'  shop ;  after  the  sweeties  there  would 
come  something  substantial.  Poisson,  by  the  way,  was 
altogether  a  funny  card.  How  could  a  man,  whose  business 
it  was  to  be  sharp,  prove  such  a  noodle  in  his  own  home  ? 
But  they  suddenly  stopped  talking  on  noticing  Gervaise, 
whom  they  had  ceased  watching,  and  who  was  now  trying 
her  performance  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  with  hands  and 
feet  trembling  like  Coupeau's.  Bravo  1  that  was  it,  that  was 
all  they  wanted.  She  paused  with  a  bewildered  look,  as 
though  she  was  just  awaking  from  a  dream,  and  then  she 
hurried  off,  wishing  everyone  good-night,  as  she  was  going  to 
try  to  get  a  little  sleep. 

On  the  morrow,  the  Boches  saw  her  start  at  noon  as 
on  the  previous  occasions.  They  wished  her  a  pleasant 
journey.  That  day  the  corridor  at  Sainte-Anne  positively 
shook  with  Coupeau's  yells  and  kicks.  She  was  still  climbing 
the  stairs,  when  she  heard  him  bellow :  '  What  a  lot  of 
bugs  I — Let  them  come  this  way  again  that  I  may  squash 
them !     Ah  !   they  want  to  kill  me  I   do  they  ?     Well,  I'm 

D  D  9 


404  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

more  cunning  than  the  lot  of  them.  Clear  out  I  damnation  1 
clear  out  1 ' 

For  a  moment  Gervaise  stood  panting  before  the  door. 
Was  he  fighting  against  an  army  then  ?  When  she  entered, 
the  performance  had  increased  and  embellished.  Coupeau 
was  a  raving  madman,  such  as  one  sees  at  Charenton!  He 
was  throwing  himself  about  in  the  centre  of  the  cell,  thrust- 
ing  his  hands  out  on  every  side,  striking  himself,  the  walls, 
and  the  floor,  then  turning  head  over  heels  and  hitting  into 
space ;  and  he  wanted  to  open  the  window,  and  he  hid  him- 
self, and  defended  himself,  called  and  answered,  raising  all 
this  racket  without  the  least  assistance,  in  the  exasperated 
way  of  a  man  beset  by  a  mob  of  people.  Then  Gervaise 
understood  that  he  fancied  he  was  laying  sheets  of  zinc  on  a 
roof.  He  imitated  the  bellows  with  his  mouth,  he  moved  the 
irons  in  the  fire,  and  knelt  down  to  pass  his  thumb  alongside 
the  edge  of  the  mat,  thinking  all  the  time  that  he  was  solder- 
ing it.  Yes,  his  handicraft  returned  to  him  at  the  moment  of 
croaking ;  and  if  he  yelled  and  fought  on  his  roof,  it  was 
because  a  lot  of  ugly  scoundrels  were  preventing  him  from 
doing  his  work  properly.  On  all  the  neighbouring  roofs  were 
villains  mocking  and  tormenting  him.  Besides  which,  the 
jokers  let  troops  of  rats  loose  about  his  legs.  Ah  I  the  filthy 
beasts,  he  always  saw  them  I  Although  he  kept  on  crushing 
them,  bringing  his  foot  down  with  all  his  strength,  fresh 
strings  of  them  continued  passing,  until  they  quite  covered 
the  roof.  And  there  were  spiders  also !  He  roughly  pressed 
his  trousers  against  his  thigh  to  squash  some  big  spiders 
which  had  crept  up  his  leg.  Ah  I  thunder !  he  would  never 
finish  his  day's  work,  they  wanted  to  destroy  him,  his  em- 
ployer would  send  him  to  the  Mazas  prison.  Then,  while  he 
made  all  haste,  he  suddenly  imagined  that  he  had  a  steam- 
engine  in  his  stomach ;  and,  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  he 
belched  forth  the  smoke,  a  dense  smoke  which  filled  the  cell, 
and  found  an  outlet  by  the  window;  and,  bending  forward 
and  still  puffing,  he  watched  the  cloud  of  smoke  unroll  and 
ascend  to  the  sky,  where  it  hid  the  sun  from  view. 

Then  all  at  once  he  cried :  *  Hallo  I  there  goes  the  Chauss6e 
Clignancourt  gang,  all  disguised  as  bears,  with  drums.* 

He  was  now  crouching  before  the  window,  as  though  he 
were  watching  some  street  procession  from  a  house-top. 

*  Yes,  there's  the  cavalcade,'  he  continued ;  *  there  are  a  lot 
of  lions  and  panthers  making  grimaces — And  there  are  some 


DEATH  405 

brats  dressed  up  as  dogs  and  cats — There's  tall  Cl^mence,  too, 
with  her  wig  full  of  feathers.  Ah !  dash  it  all !  she's  turning 
head  over  heels  1  Eh  1  you  confounded  coppers,  just  leave 
her  alone  I — don't  fire,  thunder  I  don't  fire * 

His  voice  rose,  hoarse  and  terror-fraught,  and  he  quickly 
stooped,  declaring  that  the  poUce  and  the  military  were  below, 
aiming  at  him  with  their  rifles.  In  the  wall  he  saw  the  barrel 
of  a  pistol  pointed  at  his  chest.     They  had  come  to  take  the 

girl  from  him.     *  Don't  fire,  damnation  I  don't  fire '  he 

shouted. 

Then,  as  the  houses  began  to  fall  in,  he  imitated  the 
crackling  of  a  whole  district  sinking  to  the  ground.  And  all 
disappeared,  all  flew  away  from  before  his  gaze.  But  he  had 
no  time  to  take  breath,  for  other  pictures  passed  before  him 
with  extraordinary  rapidity.  A  furious  desire  to  speak  filled 
his  mouth  with  words  which  he  uttered  disconnectedly,  his 
throat  gurgling  the  while.  And  his  voice  became  even  louder 
and  louder. 

*  Hallo,  it's  you  ?  Good-day  1 — No  jokes  I  I  don't  want  to 
swallow  your  hair.' 

And,  so  saying,  he  passed  his  hand  before  his  face,  and 
blew  as  if  to  drive  the  hair  away.  The  house-surgeon  ques- 
tioned him.    *  Who  is  it  you  see  ? ' 

'  My  wife,  of  course  I ' 

He  was  looking  at  the  wall,  with  his  back  to  Gervaise. 
Thus  his  words  gave  the  latter  quite  a  fright,  and  she  exam- 
ined the  wall  to  ascertain  if  by  any  chance  she  could  catch 
sight  of  herself  in  it.  However,  he  continued  talking.  *  Now, 
you  know,  none  of  your  wheedling — I  won't  be  tied  up — 
Jupiter  1  you  are  smart,  you  have,  got  a  fine  dress  I  Where 
did  you  get  it  from,  eh  ?  You've  been  after  him  again,  you 
camel  I  Wait  a  bit  and  I'll  do  for  you  ! — Ah  I  you're  hiding 
your  gentleman  behind  you,  are  you  ?  Who  is  it,  eh !  Just 
let  me  see — Damnation  I  it's  him  again  I ' 

Taking  a  terrible  spring  as  he  spoke,  he  went  head  first 
against  the  wall ;  but  the  padding  deadened  the  blow.  One 
only  heard  his  body  rebounding  upon  the  matting,  whither 
the  shock  sent  him. 

*  Who  is  it  you  see  ?  '  repeated  the  house-surgeon. 

*  The  hatter  1  the  hatter  1 '  yelled  Coupeau. 

Then,  as  the  house-surgeon  questioned  Gervaise,  she  began 
to  stutter,  unable  to  give  any  answer,  for  this  scene  had  stirred 
up  the  memory  of  all  the  worries  of  her  life. 


4o6  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

The  zinc-worker,  however,  had  thrust  out  his  fists.  *  We'll 
Bettle  this  between  us,  young  'un  I '  he  shouted.  *  It's  full 
time  I  did  for  you  1  Ah  1  you  coolly  come,  with  that  hussy  on 
your  arm,  just  to  make  a  fool  of  me  before  everyone.  "Well  I 
I'm  going  to  throttle  you — yes,  yes,  I  am  1  and  without  put- 
ting any  gloves  on  either  1  I'll  stop  your  swaggering,  I  will — 
Take  that.     And  that,  and  that,  and  that  I ' 

He  hit  about  at  space,  full  of  rageful  fury.  Havhag 
bumped  against  the  wall  as  he  drew  back,  he  thought  that  he 
was  being  attacked  from  the  rear.  So  he  turned  round  and 
hammered  away  at  the  padding.  He  sprang  about,  jumped 
from  one  corner  to  another,  dealt  blows  with  his  stomach,  his 
back,  and  his  shoulders,  rolled  over,  and  then  picked  himself 
up  again.  His  bones  were  softening,  his  flesh  gave  out  a 
sound  as  of  damp  tow.  And  as  an  accompaniment  to  this 
pretty  game,  he  vented  atrocious  threats,  all  sorts  of  wild, 
guttural  cries.  However,  the  battle  must  have  been  going 
badly  for  him,  for  his  breathing  became  quicker,  his  eyes 
started  from  his  head,  and  little  by  little  he  seemed  to  be 
overcome  by  child-like  cowardice. 

'  Murder  1  murder  I — Be  off  with  you  both.  Oh  !  the 
brutes,  they're  laughing.  There  she  is  on  her  back,  the 
hussy  !  She  must  give  in,  it's  settled.  Ah  !  the  brigand,  he's 
murdering  her !  He's  cutting  off  her  leg  with  his  knife.  The 
other  leg's  on  the  ground,  the  body's  in  two,  it's  full  of  blood. 
Oh  !  my  God — oh  I  my  God — oh  !  my  God ' 

Then,  fearful  to  behold,  covered  with  perspiration,  his  hair 
standing  upon  end,  he  retired  backwards,  wildly  waving  his 
arms,  as  though  to  drive  away  the  abominable  sight.  And, 
uttering  two  heart-rending  wails,  he  fell  flat  upon  his  back  on 
the  mattress,  against  which  his  heels  had  caught. 

*  He's  dead,  sir,  he's  dead !  *  said  Gervaise,  clasping  her 
hands. 

The  house-surgeon  had  already  drawn  near  to  Coupeau, 
and  was  pulling  him  into  the  middle  of  the  mattress.  No,  he 
was  not  dead.  His  shoes  had  been  taken  off,  and  his  bare 
feet,  one  beside  the  other,  were  dancing  in  time  a  little  and 
quick,  but  regular  dance. 

Just  then  the  head  doctor  entered.  He  had  brought  two 
colleagues  with  him — one  thin  and  the  other  fat,  and  both 
decorated,  like  himself.  All  three  stooped  down  without  a 
word  and  examined  the  patient  all  over ;  then  they  rapidly 
conversed  in  undertones.    They  had  uncovered  Coupeau  from 


DEATB  40) 

his  thighs  to  hia  shoulders,  and  Gervaise,  by  standing  on  tip- 
toe, could  see  his  naked  trunk.  And  what  a  sight  it  was  I 
The  trembling  had  descended  from  the  arms  and  ascended 
from  the  legs,  so  that  now  the  trunk  itself  was  growing  lively ! 
Yes,  the  puppet  was  positively  wriggling  its  stomach.  Smilea 
coursed  along  the  ribs,  the  breEid- basket  was  splitting,  breath- 
less with  laughter.  And  everything  was  moving,  there  was 
no  denying  it.  The  muscles  danced  like  vis-d-viSj  the  skin 
vibrated  like  a  drum,  the  very  hairs  bowed  to  one  another  as 
they  waltzed.  In  short,  it  was  probably  the  great  breakdown, 
the  final  gallop,  so  to  say,  as  when  day  breaks  and  the  dancers 
take  each  other  by  the  hand  and  stamp  upon  the  floor. 

*  He's  sleeping,'  murmured  the  head  doctor. 

And  he  called  the  others'  attention  to  the  man's  counte- 
nance. Coupeau's  eyes  were  closed,  and  little  nervous  twinges 
contracted  his  whole  face.  He  looked  more  hideous  than  ever 
thus  flattened,  with  his  jaw  projecting,  and  his  visage  deformed 
like  a  corpse's  that  suffered  from  nightmare ;  but  the  doctors, 
having  caught  sight  of  his  feet,  went  to  poke  their  noses  over 
them,  with  an  air  of  profound  interest.  The  feet  were  still 
dancing.  Although  Coupeau  slept  the  feet  danced.  Oh  I 
their  owner  might  snore,  that  did  not  concern  them,  they 
kept  up  their  Uttle  diversion  without  either  hurrying  or  slack- 
ening. Perfect  mechanical  feet  they  were,  feet  which  took 
their  pleasure  where  they  found  it. 

However,  Gervaise,  having  seen  the  doctors  lay  their 
hands  on  her  old  man,  wished  to  feel  him  also.  She  softly 
approached,  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  kept  it  there 
for  a  minute.  Good  heavens  1  whatever  could  be  taking  place 
inside  ?  The  dancing  extended  into  the  very  depths  of  the 
flesh,  the  bones  themselves  must  have  been  jumping  about. 
Quiverings,  ripplings,  coming  from  far  beneath,  flowed  river- 
like under  the  skin.  When  she  pressed  a  little,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  could  distinguish  a  cry  of  suffering  from  the 
marrow.  "With  the  naked  eye  one  only  saw  the  Httle  wavy  rip- 
phngs,  creating  dimple-like  depressions,  as  on  the  surface  of 
an  eddy ;  but  within  there  must  have  been  terrible  devasta- 
tion. What  fearful  work,  a  work  worthy  of  a  mole  1  It  was 
the  *  vitriol '  of  the  *  Assommoir '  pickaxing  away  in  there. 
Coupeau's  whole  body  was  soaked  with  it,  and,  well,  the  work 
had  to  be  finished,  crumbling  him  to  pieces  and  carrying  him 
off  with  the  continuous  trembhng  of  his  entire  carcass. 

The  chief  doctors  went  away ;  and  at  the  end  of  another 


4oS  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

hour  Gervaise,  who  had  remained  with  the  house-surgeon, 
repeated  in  a  low  voice,  '  He's  dead,  sir — he's  dead  I  * 

But  the  house-surgeon,  who  was  still  watching  the  feet, 
shook  hia  head.  Those  bare  feet,  projecting  beyond  the 
mattress,  still  danced  on ;  and,  indeed,  several  more  hours 
passed  by.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden  they  stiffened  and  became 
motionless.  And  thereupon  the  house-surgeon  turned  towards 
Gervaise,  saying,  *  It's  over  now.' 
^^     Death  alone  had  been  able  to  stop  those  feet. 

When  Gervaise  got  back  to  the  Rue  de  la  Goutte-d'Or, 
she  found  a  number  of  women  cackling  excitedly  in  the 
Boches'  room.  She  fancied  that  they  were  awaiting  her  to 
have  the  latest  news,  as  on  the  other  days. 

*  He's  croaked,'  said  she,  quietly,  as  she  pushed  open  the 
door,  looking  tired  out  and  stupid. 

But  nobody  listened  to  her.  The  whole  house  was  topsy- 
turvy. Ohl  a  most  extraordinary  thing  had  happened. 
Poisson  had  surprised  his  wife  and  Lantier.  How  it  had 
happened  was  not  exactly  known,  because  everybody  had  a 
different  version  to  relate.  However,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
about  it.  And  naturally  enough  Poisson  had  fired  up,  like  a 
perfect  tiger.  This  man,  who  talked  but  little  and  walked  so 
stiffly,  had  begun  to  roar  and  jump  about.  Then  nothing 
more  had  been  heard.  Lantier  had  most  likely  explained  the 
matter.  Anyhow,  the  hatter's  intrigue  with  the  groceress 
could  not  have  lasted  much  longer :  Boche  announced  for 
certain  that  the  girl  of  the  eating-house  next  door  was  going 
to  take  the  Poissons'  shop  and  set  up  in  business  as  a  tripe- 
seller.    That  rogue  of  a  hatter  adored  tripe. 

However,  on  seeing  Madame  Lorilleux  and  Madame  Lerat 
arrive,  Gervaise  repeated  faintly :  *  He's  dead.  Gracious 
goodness  I  four  days'  dancing  and  yelling ' 

The  two  sisters  could  not  do  otherwise  than  pull  out  their 
handkerchiefs.  Their  brother  had  had  many  faults,  but  after 
all  he  had  been  their  brother.  Boche,  however,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  said  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  everyone : 
*  Bah  I  it's  only  a  drunkard  the  less  !  ' 

From  that  day  forward,  as  Gervaise  often  lost  her  head, 
one  of  the  amusements  of  the  house  was  to  see  her  imitate 
Coupeau.  It  was  no  longer  necessary  to  press  her,  she  gave 
the  performance  gratis,  her  hands  and  her  feet  trembling 
while  she  vented  little  involuntary  shrieks.  No  doubt  she  had 
contracted  this  habit  at  Sainte-Anne  through  looking  at  her 


DEATH  409 

old  man  too  long.  But  she  had  no  luck,  for  it  did  not  kill 
her,  as  it  had  killed  him.  In  her  case  it  went  no  further  than 
an  impulse  to  make  grimaces  like  an  escaped  monkey,  which 
often  caused  the  street  urchins  to  pelt  her  with  cabbage 
stalks. 

In  this  wise  Gervaise  lasted  for  several  months.  She  fell 
lower  and  lower  still,  submitting  to  the  grossest  outrages, 
and  dying  of  starvation  a  little  more  every  day.  As  soon  as 
ever  she  had  a  few  sous,  she  drank  and  fought  the  walls. 
M.  Marescot  had  decided  to  turn  her  out  of  her  room  on  the 
sixth  floor.  But,  as  old  Bru  was  just  about  that  time  found 
dead  in  his  hole  under  the  staircase,  the  landlord  kindly 
allowed  her  to  turn  into  it.  And  now  she  roosted  there  in 
the  place  of  old  Bru.  It  was  there,  on  some  old  straw,  that 
she  lay  with  chattering  teeth,  empty  stomach,  and  frozen 
bones.  Mother  earth  would  not  have  her  apparently.  She 
became  idiotic,  and  did  not  even  think  of  making  an  end  of 
herself  by  jumping  from  a  sixth  floor  window  on  to  the  pave- 
ment of  the  courtyard.  Death  was  to  take  her  little  by  little, 
bit  by  bit,  dragging  her  thus  to  the  bitter  end  through  all  the 
accursed  existence  that  she  had  made  for  herself.  And  indeed 
it  was  never  exactly  known  what  she  did  die  of.  There  was 
some  talk  of  a  cold  ;  but  the  truth  was  she  died  of  privation, 
of  the  filth  and  hardships  of  her  wrecked  life.  According  to 
the  Lorilleux  she  simply  rotted  away.  One  morning,  as  there 
was  a  bad  smell  in  the  passage,  it  was  remembered  that  she 
had  not  been  seen  for  two  days  past,  and  she  was  discovered 
already  mortifying  in  her  hole. 

As  it  happened  it  was  old  Bazouge  who  came  with  the 
pauper's  coffin  to  pack  her  up.  He  was  again  precious  drunk 
that  day,  but  a  jolly  fellow  all  the  same,  and  as  lively  as  a 
cricket.  When  he  had  recognised  the  customer  whom  he  had 
to  deal  with,  he  vented  several  philosophical  reflections  whilst 
preparing  for  his  little  business. 

'  Every  one  goes.  There's  no  occasion  for  jostling,  there's 
room  for  every  one.  And  it's  stupid  to  be  in  a  hurry,  because 
one  does  not  arrive  so  quick.  For  my  part  all  I  want  to  do 
is  to  please  everybody.  Some  will,  others  won't.  What's 
the  result  ?  There's  one  who  wouldn't,  then  she  would.  So 
she  was  made  to  wait.  Anyhow,  it's  all  right  now,  and, 
faith  I  she's  earned  it  I     So,  now  then,  merrily  0  1 ' 

And  as  he  took  hold  of  Gervaise  with  his  big  dirty  paws 
he  was  seized  with  emotion,  and  with  great  gentleness  raised 

£  E 


4IO  THE  DRAM-SHOP 

this  woman  who  had  so  fervently  longed  for  his  ministry. 
He  laid  her  with  paternal  care  at  the  bottom  of  the  coffin, 
and  then  stuttered,  between  two  hiccoughs  :  '  There  you  are — 
just  listen — it's  me,  Bibi-the-Gay,  called  the  ladies'  consoler. 
Come,  you're  happy  now  ;  by-by,  my  beauty ! ' 


TBB   SNOf 


PRINTED   BY 

SPOTTISWOODE  AND  CO.  LTD.,  COLCHESTER 

LONDON  AND  ETON 


"*  >    i 


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